2n«l COPY, 
1898. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

— Copjriglit No 



Cliap Copjriglft No.. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



NOV 9:1898 







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May the People who've smiled and ax^plauded, 
Whom he loves for the welcome they've shown, 
And the homes where the Pilgrim has tarried, 
Found the numberless friends still his own : 
All the hearts of the circle fraternal 
Love-linking the infinite shores — 
May ye find on the Devil's Tea-table, 
A crumb of the Cake Truly Yours, 

Lit B. Cake. 



^'OV 9; 1898 



...THE... 

DEVIL'S TEA-TABLE 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

LU B. CAKE 

author of 

The Story My Mother Told Me/' "Pen Sketches," 
Numerous Songs, Etc. 



published by 

L. B. Cake 
90 West Broadway 

New York City 






A 90 11 



Copyrighted 

1898 

By Lu B. Cake 



^--^^f^t^r-it^SftfcGtiVtOo 




b^^^Vy^ 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 

The author acknowledges the courtesy of Har- 
per's Bazar ^ The TouWs Companion, Brother- 
hood of Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Detroit 
Free Press, The Saturday Olohe, and The Edu- 
cational Gazette, for permission to use matter he 
wrote for these publications. 



CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Another Day Apart, 90 

Army an' Navy Hooray Song, 141 

As Told by a Ghost from the "Maine," . . . 125 

Baby 18a 

Battle of Manila Bay, 131 

Bruisey The Newsey, 192 

Bells in the Tower of Timb, 26> 

Boys and Bumblebees 151 

Bicycle Song, 15& 

Carnival of Leaves, 51 

Christmas with My Old Mother, .... 63. 

Church Goose, 180' 

Damon and Pythias 74 

Dealing in Options, . . . . . . . 16& 

Devil's Christmas Pi, . 191 

DE^aL's Tea-Table, ....... 9 

First Day at School ITS' 

Goin' to Law, 110 

Ghoses in the Barn, . . ... . . 185 

Gotlieb's Charge of the Light Brigade, . . 186- 

Grave of a Star, 174 

Herdsman's Horn Welcoming Day, .... 23 

HoBSON AND Heroes, 136. 

How I Proposed to Mary , . 103 

How Patti Sang Home, Sweet Home, . . . 101 

Is There an Honest Lawyer, 107 

Jake's Tanksgibbin' Dream, 94 

Joan of Arc, 65 

John an' Jonathan, . 145 

John Irving : No Home, ...... 8a 

Jumping the Rope, 179 

4 



Page, 

Leaving the Farm, 117 

'* Maine" Goes Sailing On, 143 

Many in One, 52 

Mary Jane Haw, 171 

JIemorial Day, ........ 53 

Money, . . ■ 80 

Musical Voice of Love, 18 

Name That Heads the Ticket, 128 

New Woman 188 

New Year Transmigration of My Soul, ... 21 

Old Minstrel, 45 

Old Phantom, 34 

OOTSIE Tootsie, 162 

Our Hallowed Heroes, 147 

PooRHOusE Rock Me to Sleep, 88 

Portrait of Father Time, 33 

Press Club Boys, 18& 

Railway Engineer, 91 

Sampson and Schley, 139 

Seeing the Unseen, . 16 

Signs of the Times, 81 

Silent City 28 

Sonnet, 195 

Spring is Sprung, 158 

Thousand Islands, 42 

Travelling Man's Song, 164r 

Uncle Sam . 129 

Waltz of the Giants 13 

What It Is to Be Poor, 86 

When My Chores Are Done, 99 

When She's a Gon' Away, 106 

Widow's Cow in the Pound, 92 

Wind Ghouls, 127 

Woman, 62 

Yankee Dewey, 144 

Yankee Girl In War, 148 



DEDICATION. 

This book is one tliat will be read, 

Will be admired, and treasured, too — 
By tliat dear one whose faith has led, 

Whose love will make the promise true. 
And so assured of real fame, 

In all the world, for all of life, 
(For she and these are one, the same,) 

I dedicate my waif to — WIPE. 




THE DEVIL'S TEA-TABLE. 

Compare with length of man on top to get the dnnensions of this wonderful rock. 



THE DEVIL'S TEA-TABLE. 

The Old Tea-table ! Landmark on life's wide sea ! 

Here have I played, a happy boy, heart free ! 

Here rose the sun with hallowed torch of gold, 

This altar his, the great high priest of old 

Began the service that for ages past 

All time has chanted in God's temple vast. 

The floral censers swung on hill, in dale, 

And o'er the holy was the cloudlet veil ; 

A momentary hush of silent pray'r, 

Then praising chorals filled the balmy air, 

And nature sang in harmony divine. 

Until I saw the heav'nly glory shine ! 

The people all arose and went their way — 

And thus began the duties of the day. 

Departing ghosts from all the chimneys rise, 
While to and fro the busy housewife flies ; 
The morning meal wafts incense out the doors, 
And hurries all the men about the chores ; 
The horses neigh and paw their wants until 
The grain and hay their mouths and mangers fill. 
Loud low the kine, their unweaned offspring call 
Till foaming milk punch ends the festive ball; 
The swine, a shrieking chorus at the trough, 
All dive in soup and choke their op'ra off ; 

9 



A gentle call comes from the bleating fold, 
The shepherd goes, as in the days of old, 
And by the creek that winds around the hill, 
Leads them in pastures green, by waters still. 
The fowls fly out, the plumed knight's armor 

rings, 
Then he his challenge crows, and folds his wings. 
The turkey-cock swells with his lordly pride, 
And, with his high life, red his nose is dyed, 
As 'round he struts to show his feathers fine — 
His silly gabble also hinting wine^ — 
Then turns with whirring wing to climax show : 
All fuss and feathers, like some folks we know. 
The barefoot boys with whistle loud and shrill, 
Drive out the cows to pasture on the hill. 
The dog barks, too, as if he understood ; 
Or trees a squirrel in a neighb'ring wood. 
Then club, or stone, a barefoot savage throws, 
Bombarding while the herd estraying goes. 
The squirrel leaps from bough to bough till he 
Derisive chatters from a hollow tree. 
The hired man rides contentedly along. 
Perched sidewise on his horse, and sings a song ; 
An old love ditty, full of plaintive strains 
That tell the hearts and hopes of love-sick swains. 
Then, soon dismounting, links the plow behind, 
And drives the horses harnessed single-lined, 
AVith jerk and pull and echoed "Q-ee" and 

"Haw;" 
And other words to guide and make them draw. 

10 



The furrow rolls, a wave made by the plow, 

Until, with tired team and sweating brow, 

The plowman sits upon the anchored beam. 

And takes a rest, interpreting his dream ; 

Or hums the tune the hired girl sings and thrums 

With her pan cymbals and her kettle drums. 

The farmer fills the sack with measured grain, 

With roots, or with the apples that remain ; 

The good wife fills the tub with bricks of gold, 

Her baskets all the treasured iv'ry hold ; 

He dons his "store-clothes," she her ironed 

gown. 
They go to market in the near-by town. 
Boys have their " stent," and then a holiday 
Around the Old Tea-table, wild at play. 

The Devil's Tea-table, name it long has borne : 
A giant rock a glacier must have torn 
From nature's quarry in the ages gone. 
And held imprisoned, drifting, till upon 
A tow' ring hill the enchained exile stands, 
A monument sublime, not made with hands. 
Now high it rises from the hill-top's crown, 
A table where the ancient gods sat down 
To banquet with the world, as they did then ; 
For in those days gods held converse with men. 
And mortals gathered in the vale below, 
Where now Muskingum's crystal waters flow. 
Received the oracles and blessings free. 
And went away to live in amity. 

11 



But times and customs change, the gods withdraw, 

The Red man comes with superstitious awe, 

And in the valley lights his Council Fire ; 

The world his temple, nature's voice the choir, 

The rock the altar, and his sacrifice 

A heart obeying Hoyowenta wise. 

The ceremonies of childlike belief. 

Have passed away with Totem, Tribe and Chief ; 

But on the western hill, across the vale. 

As straight as wild bird's flight, or Indian trail, 

A sacred mound appears, which places priest 

Or warden, west, the Master in the east. 

Here flints, and beads, and bones have been 

exhumed ; 
Past glory and the story all entombed. 

Again a change, the world is not the same ; 
The Paleface conquers all, gives each a name. 
Ohio is the heritage so fair ; 
Among the Morgan hills, in heaven's air, 
Muskingum's Eden valley leads the way, 
And there's the Devil's Tea-table to-day. 
Anear, the Devil's Cave, with haunting ghosts, 
And orgies of the dread satanic hosts. 
The labyrinthine darkness loses all 
Who seek, to find the Devil's Banquet Hall. 
Here witches' cauldrons flame with hellish light, 
And goblins hold high carnival all night. 
But when the moon's eclipsed, clouds hide the 
stars, 

12 



And not a ray the ebon darkness mars, 
Then Satan comes, and from the dungeon cave 
Calls goblins, ghouls, and ev'ry imp and knave ; 
The great bal masque ! They take what shape 

they will 
And join the Devils' dance upon the hill. 
The witches' cauldrons brew satanic tea 
Of serpents' rattles, toadstools. Upas-tree, 
And mad-dog's foam, nightshade, and hell-hag's 

bane, 
And whatsoever kills, and causes pain. 
When fury lags, the Devil's demon call 
Around the great tea-table gathers all ; 
The witches serve the tea ; fast as they pour 
The demons drink till hell breaks loose once 

more. 
So long thus used by him, the Man of Sin, 
The Devil's Tea-table it has always been. 

The tide turns back, flows to the golden shore, 
And, thither borne, I am a child once more ! 
The bluest sky, the greenest fields and wolds, 
The fairest flowers, the sweetest bud that folds, 
Most fragrant blossoms, and the clearest streams, 
Most golden sun and brightest starlight beams ; 
The happiest homes, the hearts most kind and 

true, 
They 're mine again, and I am with them, too ; 
The old white house among the orchard trees, 
-Familiar voices float upon the breeze ; 

13 



The faces loved, all smiling as of yore, 
Are in the home, or play around the door ; 
The old dog barks, and leaps to kiss my hand ; 
We run a race, we join the boyish band 
That wades the creek ; we watch the water-wheel 
Make snow and diamonds with its busy reel ; 
The pumping engine, there with awe we gaze. 
Scare at the steam-gauge, ask how pumps can 

raise 
Salt water from the ocean miles away ; 
The furnace with the kettles, there we stay ; 
The vapor ghosts e'er dancing, if one halt, 
Then, like Lot's wife of old, it turns to salt ; 
We cook our banquet in the boiling brine, 
A feast where gods would serve, if they could 

dine ; 
Like millionaires we launch our yacht afloat, 
Although our craft is but an old Johnboat ; 
We purl the water, hold the dripping oar 
To watch the foam -bees on the waves afore ; 
Or roguishly all bend and coyly peep 
4-t other rogues just like us in the deep. 
A steamboat comes, we row close to her side 
And cry "ahoy ! " and on the billows ride ; 
We pull across, the eastern shore we gain, 
And prouder sailors never crossed the main ; 
We climb the rugged hill again to-day. 

And here's the Old Tea-table ! Let us play ! — 

^ ^ ^ -.^ % ^ 

O boys, the sun dips down the western sky ! 

14 



The lengthening shadows in the valley lie, 
And on the river ! dark the waters flow ! 
We must cross over ! Ready all to go ? 
What ! none to answer? have the boys all gone? 
I am alone ! — Where have they wandered on ? 
Or have they grown a-weary of the play, 
And, near the Old Tea-table, sleep the hours 
away ? 

Upon the western hill the pilgrim sun 
Awaits the warden, ere the journey 's done ! 
The ancient mound a tower of the wall, 
And gateway to his kingly castle hall. 
As he descends, flames from his golden urn 
Upon the eastern hill ascending burn, 
Until with good-night glint on hill and wold, 
They gild the Old Tea-table o'er with gold ! 
The barefoot boy brings back the lowing kine, 
With team unhitched the plowman folds the 

line ; 
The v/agon 's at the gate, returned from town, 
With tender care he helps her stepping down ; 
The children with expectant greeting run ; 
The hired girl thrums again, chores are begun ; 
The moon gleams on the river, crowns the hill ; 
The cricket's chirrup chimes with "whippoor- 

will!" 
What dims my eyes ? a mist or cloud comes on ! — 
The Old Tea-table lost ! The boys all gone ! 



15 



SEEING THE UNSEEN. 

Lo ! all heav'n and eartli adoring as the morn- 
ing drawetli nigh, 

In a golden, flaming chariot He rides upon the 
sky! 

All-illumining the heavens with a blaze no eye 
can meet, 

Diamond-mirrored in the dewdrops that are 
shining at my feet ! 

He is passing in the shadow as the night steals 
down the vale, 

And upon the sky receding I behold His gar- 
ments trail ; 

Though to look upon His mantle is to mortals 
ne'er allowed, 

The reflection of the colors falls in beauty on a 
cloud. 

Hidden is the path He goeth, for His way is all 

unknown ; 
But upon the sky receding in the sunset it bath 

shone : 
Then I see His ship of silver sailing in the night 

afar, 
Or the flashing of His footfall, as He steps from 

star to star. 

16 



I revere His reign omnipotent, as on the storm 

He rides, 
With the lightning glance of majesty His cloud 

pavilion hides ; 
Learn the terror of His power in the crashing 

forest trees, 
And the peace past understanding, as He stills 

the raging seas. 

In the falling of the sparrow He reveals His 
tender care. 

And the halo of His glory in the robes the lilies 
wear ; 

While I wonder at the wisdom in the harmoniz- 
ing spheres. 

And the greatness of the mercy moved by peni- 
tential tears. 

In the joy of all His creatures, is His goodness 

manifest, 
And the image of the holy is enshrined in ev'ry 

breast ; 
in all He freely gives below, all He forgives 

above. 
Seeing love, I see the Unseen ; Tor God, Himself, 

is love. 



17 



THE MUSICAL VOICE OP LOVE. 

LThe alternate lines have long and short, as marked in first two. 
Hyphen the stress of voice in reading.] 

ATI alone, now my own, 

Here from the world apart, 
Thou with me, one are we. 

Voice of my soul and heart ! 
All unheard is the word 

Sweetly I murmur low ; 
Thinking this in my bliss — 

Only the angels know ! 

Ev'ry thought, Cupid wrought, 

Turns to a royal gem, 
Light of love from above, 

Star for thy diadem. 
Fancy weaves orange leaves, 

Braiding a garland rare, 
I would wind joy entwined, 

Over thy brow so fair. 

Brightly hope here doth ope 

Far in the future years, 
There with me constantly, 

Ever one form appears. 
Golden hours, birds and flowers. 

Songs, and sweet music played ; 
Pictures, books, quiet nooks, 

Home like a heaven made. 
18 



O as bright and as light, 

Rivalling e'en the star 
When asleep on the deep, 

Where limpid waters are ; 
So is thine image mine. 

Star of my love-lit sea. 
Guide and chart of my heart, 

Yea, all the world to me. 

For thy sake I would make 

Wealth only folly's prize ; 
Or to shield thee would yield 

Toiling and sacrifice. 
Not the name won by fame 

Moves me to climb the height ; 
'Tis for thee I would be 

More than I am to-night. 

Life is dear. Oh ! I fear 

Death with a coward heart ; 
For I think, as I shrink, 

Death even us may part. 
Oh, to live and to give 

Fondly through years to be, 
The caress, happiness, 

All that I wish for thee ! 

Ah, how time, like a rhyme 
Winged with a careless strain, 

Floating nigh, passeth by. 
Never recalled again ! 

19 



While the joys time destroys 

Fade in the hope to die — 
Oh, lost years, tombs and tears^ 
' Lovers and loved there lie ! 

Were it so Ave could know 

Only a score of years 
Will be done ere the sun 

Dims in our parting tears ; 
How much more of the score 

Then would we yield to fate ? 
Oh ! for home, life's fair glome,^ 

Long would we will to wait ? 

Should the stream of our dream 

Flow where the waters part. 
Bear us on till the dawn 

Wake us, torn heart from heart — 
Would we yearn to return, 

Stand where we once had stood ? 
There delight to unite, 

Asking no other good ? 

Ah ! my sweet, time is fleet, 

Life is not long, at best ; 
Day by day wings away, 

Dies in the nearer west. 
Thine and mine, mine and thine^ 

All is the toy of fate. 
Shall the bell ring, or knell ? 

Dear, shall we dare to wait ? 

20 



NEW YEAR TRANSMIGRATION OF 
MY SOUL. 

Enthralled like a tranced musician, 
Am I this New Year's day ; 

Time, Time is the wondrous organ, 
And Life the hymn I'll play. 

The keyboard of days before me, 
The chords my soul shall sweep ; 

Will mine be a song of transport. 
Or dirge my heart shall weep ? 

^ -5^ * -^ * * 

To-day, like an eager artist, 
I come with brush in hand ; 

The colors and canvass waiting 
An inspiration grand. 

Ah ! out of the days of darkness, 

Of light, of all for me, 
I'll paint my own life eternal — 

What will the picture be ? 

^ ^ V: ^ ^ ^ 

A sculptor before the marble, 

Am I before the years ; 
My heart is the mallet beating, 

The dust that falls— my tears. 

21 



The model — it is the Master ! 
The glory of all fame. 

will the unveiling give me 
The crowned, immortal name? 

* ^ * * -)5- * 

1 muse, like a poet dreaming 
The dreams that are divine ; 

I know I must write, this new year. 
Each day, a deathless line. 

Life's epic in grandest action, 

May be a holy psalm. 
Or tragedy born of passion 

That only death will calm. 

^ ^ % ^ 'A % 

Like one who begins a journey, 

In lands unknown, afar, 
I stand on the New Year threshold 

Where all my loved ones are. 

No mortal has gone before me, 

The way is all untried, 
Untraversed, save by the footprints 

Of Christ, the crucified. 

Oh ! where will my wand' rings lead me 1 

When weary, travel worn. 
And eventide ends the journey, 

What of the night? — and morn ? 



33 



THE HERDSMAN'S HORN WELCOMINa 
DAY. 

<TMs poem introduces voice imitation of Alpine horn in reading. As 
given by Ella June Meade, its success is known to the public). 

In Switzerland, creation's hand 

Has moulded all sublimely grand. 

There morning glides o'er mountain sides 

That form the homes where darkness hides. 

In gorges deep the waters sleep, 

In icy calm they ever keep ; 

And near the sky forever lie 

The snov>^s the ages multiply ; 

From Alpine crown the storm gods frown, 

And hurl the avalanches down ; 

And ev'ryv/here the upper air, 

Is cold and silent as despair. 

But far below, the flowers grow 
Where murm'ring waters ever flow ; 
The singing bird, the flock and herd, 
The happy home and loving word. 

Though hard his lot, the Switzer's cot 
Glows with a cheer the world has not. 
His wants are few, his friendships true, 
He loves his God, his fellows, too. 
Before the sun his duties run, 
Nor end until the day is done ; 

23 



First, praise and pray'r; then drowning care 

Caressing wife, and children fair ; 

Then with his sheep, up rocky steep, 

In paths that round the chasm creep. 

By ways they' ve worn through brier and thorn. 

He leads them with his winding horn. 

Though lowly bred where overhead 
The stormy heavens darkly spread ; 
Although his life is daily strife 
With want and care, with dangers rife ; 
Yet in his heart, undimmed by art. 
There dwells the nobler, better part. 
So when is found the grazing ground 
And all his flocks are feeding 'round, 
He climbs on high, until his eye 
Commands the gray-streaked, eastern sky. 
Here, with his horn, to custom born. 
He waits to meet the coming morn. 
The olden way, traditions say. 
The herdsmen hail the new-born clay. 

The shepherd star now drives afar, 
Where other sunless i)astures are, 
The flocks of light that turn with fright 
And hurry to the fold of night. 
The darkness flies, the day-gods rise 
And wave their banners in the skies ! 
Their banners made of mystic braid 
Whose changing colors never fade. 
And all unfurled, begemmed and purled^ 

24 



They glitter o'er a drowsy world ! 
In grand array, the king of day 
Comes mounting up the golden way ! 
The glory blinds ! the morning shines ! 
The herdsman' s horn this welcome M^inds : 

[Voice imitation of Alpine liorni 
The clbar notes ring on airy wing, 
Like songs we dream the angels sing ; 

[Eclio the notes of the hornl 
With music thrill, o'er vale and hill, 
The echoes fade, — grow fainter still ; — 

[Give echoes dying in the distance] , 

In silence all the echoes fall, 
And then he winds this greeting call : 
^'All hail, all hail ! " The clear notes scale 
The crags, and echo in the dale ; 
From mountain high, as from the sky, 
Rings out his neighbor's answ'ring cry : 

[Echo the " all hail"] 

From canyon walls are other calls. 

Till near, and far, it rises, falls — 
"All hail !— all hail ! " o'er all the vale, 

Where'er is known a shepherd's trail, 

The echoes go with music flow, 
"All hail ! all hail ! " — then dying slow, 
"All hail ! — all hail ! " they vanish so. 

From mount and plain an anthem strain 
Of voices blends in grand refrain : 
''Praise the Lord! — the Lord!" the answ'ring 
word 

35 



From all the mountain tops is heard — 
" Praise the Lord ! — the Lord ! — the Lord ! — the 
Lord!" 

From all the heights and hills adored : 
In vales and dells the echo wells, 
Like chimes of grand cathedral bells : 
To heaven a great hosanna swells— 
" Praise ye the Lord ! " 



THE BELLS IN THE TOWER OF TIME. 

Ringing bells, far away in a belfry. 
Pill the heart with a heavenly chime ; 

My soul swells with the anthem of ages, 
Prom the bells in the Tower of Time. 

Sweet and low is the anthem immortal, 

For the Tower of Time is afar, 
And the melody born of the choral 

That is ringing from star unto star. 

Oh ! the temple of time is creation. 
And of silver, of gold are the bells. 

Heaven-hung, shining down from the tower 
With a splendor no imagery tells. 

Bells of silver to ring for the mortal, 
Telling all of the flight of the years ; 

Down, adown float the chimes of the chanson, 
Till they well from the heart with the tears. 

26 



Bells of gold, these to ring to immortals ; 

The eternal the anthem they roll 
High and higher, till, sung by the angels, 

It becomes the "new song" of the soul. 

Angel trinity, Faith, Hope, and Charity, 
Ring the gold bells to heaven above : 

Angel trio the silver for mortals. 
Holy Pity, and Mercy, and Love. 

Sweetly silver bells ring down the answer, 
Wheii the bells of gold ring up a prayer : 

For the almoners, Faith, Hope, and Charity, 
Love, and Mercy, and Pity, are there. 

Loud the gold bells rang joyful to heaven, 
For the Eden with beauty em pearled ; 

Low the silver bells rang out in sorrow, 
For a Paradise lost to a world ! 

Silver choir then intoning for ages, 

Heaven's promise of Eden again, 
Until all of the joy-bells of glory, 

Sang, "on earth peace, good-will toward men." 

Bells of silver to earth a dirge knelling. 
When the One who so loved the world died ! 

Bells of gold tolling, tolliog to heaven, 
For the Savior, the Lord crucified ! 

How the bells of gold chanted to heaven, 
How the silver bells caroled to earth. 

When the stone rolled away by the angel 
Gave to Life, and to Love, a new birth ! 

27 



Evermore bells of gold waft tlie story, 
And forever the silver bells cMme ; 

Aye are ringing and singing the angels, 
Aye the bells in the Tower of Time ; 

Aye shall ring, and shall sing, till He cometh, 
Then the bells in the tower shall fall. 

While the angels who rang them shall crown Him 
King of Kings, and the Lord of All ! 



THE SILENT CITY. 

I wandered, to-day, in a city 
With moss and the ivy grown, 

Where mnsic, or song, or laughter. 
Or striving, was ail unknown. 

The palace-like fronts of marble 

Rose stately along the way ; 
Compeers, side by side the dwellers 
All dreamlessly slumbering lay. 

The homes in the silent city, 

Where darker than dungeons are ; 

And never, through door or window, 
Came light of the sun, or star. 

No children at play in the dooryard, 
No gain-seeking crowd of men, 

No fashion-plumed throng of women ; 
Yet all of these dwelt there, then. 

28 



How quiet tlie streets, and narrow ! 

Untrodden the thresliold stone ; 
The names on the marble doorways 

Were moss hid, and ivy grown. 

I spelled out the names carved quaintly, 
The good, and the great, were there ; 

The poet, the artist gifted, 

The strong, and the brave, and fair. 

But where is the painter's picture, 
And where is the poet's song ? 

The good ? and the great ? the fair ones ? 
And where are the brave ? and strong ? 

The canvass that spoke, — is ashes ; 

The pen of the poet, — rust ; 
The beauty, and strength, and valor. 

All mere earthly greatness, — dust. 

But where the forgotten artist. 

Whose picture in ashes lies ? 
With limners who paint the flowers, 

The morning and ev'ning skies. 

The poet, long lost to mem'ry. 
Is musing o'er grander themes. 

And rhyming the heavenly numbers 
We hear in our angel dreams. 

The sculptor, who found in marble 

An angel of joy, or tears, 
Is forming the worlds in glory. 

And moulding the silver spheres. 

29 



And all that was real valor, 

And all that was truly fair, 
And all that was good in goodness, 

All these are not here ; but There. 

A word under moss and ivy, 
A windowless home on the street 

Where never is song, or laughter. 
Or patter of passing feet — 

The All to reward ambition ! 

And this is the end of fame ; 
A home in the Silent City, 

An ivy- veiled, moss-grown name. 

I turned from the silent city, 
Of ivy, and moss, and mould. 

Away from the streets deserted, 
And thought of the lessons told : 

How vainly our lives are wasted, 
How foolish our vaunting pride. 

When all that we live for, die for, 
The ivy and grave-moss hide. 

I turned to the Unseen City, 

Where names in the pure white stone ^ 
Are never forgot, nor ever 

Are moss hid, nor ivy grown. 



* To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and 
will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which 
no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.— Eev. 2d chap. 17th verse. 



30 



THE WALTZ OF THE GIANTS. 

[Cyclones in White Pine Valley, Nevada, lift the sand in columns 
twenty feet in diameter, and three miles high. Ten to twenty in number, 
they waltz across the desert, a dance suhlime and grotesque, filling the im- 
agination with superstitious awe.] 

We know, long ago lived the giants of old, 
Nevada's white sands hide these wonderful 
men ; 
The storms raise their forms, on the wings of the 
wind, 
They join in the dance of the desert again. 

The hall for the ball of the giants is grand. 
The gold chandelier of the sun swings alone ; 

As high as the sky sapphire walls run around, 
Run far as the clouds of the desert are blown. 

Unseen, ghouls I ween, are the players that play 
The bacchanal music whose frenzy ne'er halts ; 

Around and around, in a rythmical sound 

With the beat of their feet, so the great giants 
waltz. 

Around and around, as the waters are wound 
In cycles of measures the wild maelstrom 
chants ; 
Around and around, and they waltz o'er the 
ground 
Like girls in the whirls of the dream of the 
dance. 

31 



What seems the bright gleams of the lightning so 
near, 

Are passionate glances of great giant eyes ; 
The rush and the blush of the fire in the veins, 

That revels, and rages, and riots, and dies. 

They laugh as they quaff the storm-wine white 
with foam. 
They sway and they swing with the music's 
weird strains ; 
They wheel and they reel, dizzy drunk in the 
dance, 
Whirl by, fall and lie on the wide western 
plains. 



A PORTRAIT OF FATHER TIME. 

With a mantle, of stars, and a crown of the sun, 
And a footstep so noiseless no mortal e'er hears, 

In the pathway eternal doth Time ever run ; 
While the moments, his footfalls, float out into 
years. 

With the frown of the winter, the smile of the 
spring. 
And the autumn's rich storing of summer's 
bright gold ; 
With a song all the brooks and the birds ever sing, 
And his wings of the winds, wings One only 
can fold. 

32 



With the dawn of the ages his long locks are 
gray; 
But the glory of morning is young in his eyes ; 
On his face all earth-sorrows in night shadows 
play, 
And the dews are his tears, when they fall as 
he flies. 

Ah, his face, in the long locks of dawn silver 
gray, 
And so white with the light of creation's fair 
morn ! 
'Tis a soul incarnation no words will portray ; 
All the infinite grace of the heavenly born. 

And the voice from the ocean is Time's, and it 

tells 

All the secrets of earth, of the air and the sea ; 

And we listen o'erawed, as it sinks and it swells, — 

Just a thrill of the meaning ; what may, may 

not be. 

When the zephyrs waft low, ' tis the sighing of 
Time, 
For his great heart is touched by the woes of 
the world ; 
But his laugh is the voice of the children who 
climb 
O'er the hills where the music of waters is 
purled. 

33 



the love-kiss of Time is the rose in the cheek, 

And the light in the eyes is the hope he imparts i 

But his touch is the hush when the lips no more 

speak 

The sweet words of endearment they breathed 

on our hearts ! 

And the silence that follows the stars is the 
prayer 
Father Time makes to One who shall stand on 
the shore, 
And shall stand on the sea, and whose voice shall 
declare, 
That forever and ever, Time shall be no more. 



OLD PHANTOM. 

' Tis the day of the Louisville races, 

(This was long "foh de wah" I will state,) 
And the Blue Grass is famed of all places 

For the blood with the best going gait. 
Here the pride of the daughters is riding, 

And the sons' highest glory is "hoss," 
While the pedigree ranks with the Bible, 

And the man to bet biggest is Boss. 

All around the race track hang the people, 
And the great amphitheatre full ; 

At the Judges' Stand, in the quaint steeple, 
Is the starter awaiting to pull 

84 



Signal bells for the "go" of the racers, 
Or recall when the "send off" is bad ; 

And the runners, and trotters, and pacers, 
Are all pawing and prancing like mad. 

" Clear the track ! " comes the call of the judges, 

" Horses now for the Free-for-all trot ; 
He that wins this race bears off the honor, 

And the best, biggest purse we have got." 
Dong, dong, dong ! ring the bell notes of warning, 

And the jockeys leap onto the seat. 
And the grooms strip away the bright blankets, 

And the steeds spurn the earth with their feet. 

Then a last, searching look of the owners. 

And low-forward the jockeys all bend ; 
The quick, loving caress of the darkeys. 

Who all worship the horses they "tend," 
And away the light sulkies go darting. 

Till the stand of the judges they face, 
Where they pause for the lot and the order, 

That assigns each his start in the race. 

A low murmur runs round the great circle, 

And the throng stands a-tiptoe to see ; 
Here and there rings the name of a fav'rite. 

Where the betting and bluffing runs free: 
" Here's five tens Henry Clay is the winner ! " 

' ' Here' s a hundred Black Dan takes the heat ! ' ' 
" Winning horse, fifty tens I can name him ! " 

" I've a thousand Clay Henry will beat ! " 

35 



" Henry Clay 'gainst the field for five hundred ! " 

"Two to one, Henry Clay 'gainst the field ! " 
*' Hyar's yer man ! I 'm the field for all takers," 

Drawls a green-looking gawk, "an' I'm heel'd!" 
Slyly winking they cover his money ; 

How they cheer as he wildly bets on ! 
Now they crowd np to fleece the poor victim, 

And they bet with the tapped demijohn 
Till the names make a book of remembrance, 

Till he vows his last dollar is staked ; 
Then huzza, "Henry Clay ! " gayly gloating, 

As they figure the piles they have raked. 

For the sons of the South bet on Henry, 

And the belles wave their fans in his name — 
Listen, hark ! what is that all are shouting ? 

"Take him off!" "Go it, ghost!" "Pshaw, 
he's lame ! " 
Then a roar runs around the great circle. 

From the " badge ring" they send up a howl, 
Blue Grass belles curl their lips in derision, 

And the judges look out with a growl ; 
For a horse that is fresh from the stable, 

Is now jogging to place and to view ; 
If that thing is a horse which goes limping. 

With a gait like a lame kangaroo ; 
Spider-leg' d, gander-neck' d, and so raw-boned, 

His sharp back cuts his hide most in two ; 
Drooping head, bony tail, sleepy looking, 

And the harness all tied up with strings ; 

86 



Both tlie shafts of the sulky are broken, 
And green hick'ry withes bind up the things ; 

For a driver, a plantation darkey, 

Whose big feet make a dashboard each side. 

As the sulky wheels rattle and wobble. 
And a hick'ry gad gestures his pride. 

Loud they call, "Give him hay!" '"rah fer 
Phantom ! " 

" Let him be, he's an ole fast an' fer ! " 
And the blood horses shy and look scornful. 

While the jockeys all fling out a slur. 
'Tis such fun, that, the judges consenting. 

He is given a go in the race, 
So the darkey whips out for a warming, 

Away down past the old starting place. 
The horse skeleton limbers a little, 

As the cheers and the gad break his dream ; 
Lifts his head, moves his ears, and his limping 

Now and then takes on motions that seem 
Like a strain for a stride, long forgotten. 

Or a step hinting speed, though untrained. 
Then he joins with the pedigree racers, 

But they show the iDOor plug is disdained. 

Now the jockeys all trick for advantage, 
As they press to the wire and the start. 

And the judges look out. Dong, the bell taps ! 
" It's a go ! " is the cry ; see them i3art, 

As they rush o'er the track, neck and neck some, 
And the slow falling back round the ring ! 

37 



Henry Clay and Black Dan are the leaders, 
And Old Phantom the tail of the string ; 

*' Go it Bones!" "Pall him off!" "No, no, stay 
there ! 
You'll be head when they come up behind ! " 

"They will 'distance' Ole Bones sure as 
preachin' ! " 

Is the cry as the fear comes to mind ; 
And still farther and farther they leave him ; 

Will the bloods reach the wire 'fore he poles ? 
Yes, he's left! — No! — "Hurrah, 'rah fer Phan- 
tom!" 

Is the shout of the fun-loving souls ; 
For he reaches the distance-pole safely, 

There he balks ; as the blood horses pass 
Under wire in the cheer of the thousands, 

Poor Old Phantom, why, he goes to grass. 

"Henry Clay takes the heat ; time, two-forty !'* 

All the sons of the South raise a shout, 
And the belles wave their handkerchiefs gaily ; 

" G'lang dar, yo ole fool ! wot yo 'bout ? " 
Snarls the darkey, as jawing at Phantom, 

' Mid the jokes he goes under the wire ; 
When the cheers end, he shakes his head saying, 

" Yo look out ! Tennessee nebber tire ! " 
Then he drives 'round the track, Phantom 
limping. 

While the pedigree trotters are cooled, 
38 



And the betting runs wild upon Henry ; 

But the fielders all hedge, or are i^ooled, 
Save the green-looking gawk, again drawling : 

"I'm the field till I bet all my dust ! " 
And he gets five to one as he takes them ; 

When he runs out of money, they trust. 

There they go, second heat, Henry leading, 

And Old Phantom far back in the rear ! 
Look ! the darkey has thrown down the hick'ry I 

I declare the horse doesn't appear 
A mite lame, and he's stretching out strangely ! 

"My, that reach! why, Ole Phantom 's got 
wings ! " 
" He 's a flyin' ! " " Waal, now, he's a gainin' ! " 

" Say, the darkey is pullin' the strings ! " 
"Jest look thar! the old skeleton 's caught 'em, 

An' afore they git half the way round ! " 
"Neck an' neck with Clay Henry at home 
stretch ! " 

" Why, his feet ain't a techin' the ground ! " 
" Hallelooyar, he 's leadin' !" "Hail C'lumby, 

Henry Clay is a gittin' behind ! ' ' 
" Thar's a gap the old spider-leg's opened ! " 

" Look-e-hyar, do I see ? am I blind ? 
Got the wire ? Let me holler— glory ! " 

'Tis the Greeny that leads in the cheer. 
As Old Phantom shoots under the score wire, 

With the pedigrees all in the rear. 

39 



O such sliouts and confusion ! such laughter ! 

And the handkerchief out ev'ry where ! 
'Tis an earthquake of pent up emotion 

Throwing canes, hats, and bonnets in air ! 
But the sons of the South jeer, declaring, 

"The ole hoss had a fit ; it won't last ! " 
While the betters on Henry talk wildly, 

The quaint darkey calls, as he jogs past : 
*' Tennessee nebber tire, I done tole yo ! " 

And Old Phantom limps back to his place, 
Where it seems he will fall all to pieces 

Before they get off in the race. 

There they're off ! and Old Phantom is leading. 

For he has the inside for this go. 
That's too bad ! Henry Clay darts around him ! 

Takes the pole, leads the way — yes, 'tis so, 
Sure enough, the old skeleton 's losing ! 

Henry Clay leads the way by a length ! 
All go by !■ — he 's behind lost and lonesome ! 

His big spurt has used up all his strength. 
W ell, ' twas glory enough for the darkey ; 

There was vict'ry enough in one heat ; 
But the common folks look disappointed ; . 

For they hoped that the swells would be beat. 

On they go, Henry Clay working level ; 

Never breaks, beats the time made before; 
What is that 1 Can it be resurrection 

Has come back to Old Phantom once more ? 

40 



Yes, he lives ? See the old darkey pulling, 

Till he holds him u]3 clear of the track ! 
Where his legs beat the air like long pinions, 

Nose straight out and his tail sticking back, 
As he flies ! — fills the gap ! — now with Henry ! — 

Henry's driver tries crowding him close ! 
Plies the whip at the beck of his owner, 

And his mettled horse breaks the first dose, 
And he runs ! but Old Phantom stays with him ! 

Hear the sulky wheels hum, buzz, and ring ! 
Nostrils wide, eyes ablaze, mouth a-foaming. 

Phantom's rushing bones whistle and sing. 
Cutting air like the tongue of a Jewsharp ! 

Darkey driver can hardly get breath. 
And he gasps ! tugs the lines ! — ' tis a tableau 

Of Ambition "home-stretching" with death! 
All the judges lean out of the steeple ! 

Round the track all the people are wild ! 
Look up there in the crowded pavilion ! 

Ev'ry man, ev'ry woman and child 
Rises up as they come to the score-wire ! 

O hurrah ! hallelu ! Phantom 's won ! 

Men act mad, and the women seem crazy ; 

But Old Phantom, he is n't nigh done ; 

On he tears, darkey bracing and pulling ; — 

" Running off !"" He '11 be killed ! " are the 
cries ; 

"Stop him!"— "Whoa!— don't be skeered," 
shouts the Greeny, 

" He 's jest goin' to git exercise ! 

41 



An' to say suthin' calmin', an' soothin', 
I remark, that ere lioss b' longs to me. 

An' the reason I bet so wild on him, 

He's a throughbred, from ole Tennessee ! " 

the cheers that go up from the people, 

And the howl from the badge-ring and pools, 
And the groans from the backers of Henry, 
When they find they themselves are the fools ! 

While the Greeny is stacking his winnings. 
And the losers all foam in their ire. 

The glad darkey draws short up, exclaiming, 
" Umgh-um-ugh ! Tennessee nebber tire I 

But yo see wen ole Massa am bettin', 
Wy, sometimes we play dis leetle game: 

1 dribes in wid dis hoss an' ole sulky, 

And I say, 'Tennessee, go it lame ! ' " 
And he jogs round the track with a chuckle, 

The trained racer a-limping again, 
And the great hallelujah that follows, 

Has never been equalled since then. - 



THOUSAND ISLANDS. 

Grandly glide, O blue tide, 
Down to the ocean wide ! 
Even so our lives go, 
Down to the ocean flow ! 

42 



Oh, the wiles of the isles 
Where enchanting beauty smiles ! 
Where the breeze rocks the trees, 
Crooning fairy luUabes ; 
Sylvan bays where the days, 
Like a lover who delays, 
Linger late, Joyful wait, 
Ere they pass the good-bye gate. 

Near the shore, winged with oar, 
On the water sink and soar 
Yawl and skiff, where the cliff 
Rears the old rain- written glyph. 
Wand of waves there engraves. 
On the rock the water laves, 
Flight of time in a rhyme, 
As of bells that far off chime. 
Wavelets run in the sun, 
Happy children, ev'ry one ; 
Never queen yet was seen 
Crowned with gems like these I ween. 

Laughing waves ! Dancing waves ! 
Oh, the jewels of thy caves 
Hidden lie from mortal eye, 
Till ye flash them, passing by — 
Or on the strand, thy crested band 
Plays low the songs of "Better Land ! " 

Drifting by, on lake, in sky, 
Phantom barques all dreamful lie. 
Ship of cloud, and ship whose shroud 
Blows where blue as fair is plowed. 

43 



In the cove, or the grove, 
Happy lovers row or rove. 
Children play, wond'ring stray, 
Where the echoes answer aye. 
Age appears young in j^ears, 
In the life it sees and hears. 
Pleasures float with the boat, 
Or on music's liquid note ; 
Grief and care vanish there, 
Like a sigh breathed on the air. 

Day is done and the sun. 
Like a king whose race is run. 
Dying down yields his crown, 
And the life-lease of renown. 
In the skies, glinting rise 
Starry ranks of Paradise, 
Marching by, soon to die 
With the queen they glorify. 
Cottage wall, lighthouse tall, 
Wold and water, sailboat, all — 
In grandeur gleam until we seem 
Enthralled in some entrancing dream. 

Saint Lawrence, Saint ! Ah, unaquaint, 
Who a Heavenly form can paint ? 
Give the grace, the angel face, 
Glory known no other place ? 
Nor can I paint the sky 
With the glories passing by. 
Where, all wiles, beauty smiles 
O'er the fairy Thousand Isles. 

44 



THE OLD MINSTREL. 

[The prose version of the incident was written by this author, although 
credited to another in Elocution Books. Recite this with musical accom- 
paniment.] 

The gaily crowded Op'ra Hall was ringing with 

delight, 
The famous Georgia Minstrels gave a benefit that 

night ; 
The dear old "Saanee River" closed in melody 

so sweet, 
That tears and encores followed and compelled 

them to repeat. 

And once again the last refrain was dying on the 

air. 
Those words that breathe the longing of the 

weary heart of care ; 
Parquette, dress-circle, galleries, ay, all the 

brilliant throng, 
Gave cheers, and tears, and flowers, and applauses 

loud and long. 

Encoring changed to murmurs when there crowded 

for the stage, « 

An old " Wreck," rough and ragged, bowed with 

sorrow, want, and age. 
A time-worn battered banjo he hugged closely to 

his breast, 
His long white hair enveiling, as his withered lips 

caressed. 

45 



All hearts were touched with sympathy, as at the 

front he stood, 
He lifted up his barijo, as a sign of brotherhood ; 
Then with a choking voice he cried — "Boys, 

sing that song once more ! — 
Once more, for an old minstrel's sake whose 

singing days are o' er. 

*'I loved the ringing banjo, and I learned to play 

and sing ; 
To win me fame I left my home, my mother, 

everything ; 
The world applauded, flattered, I was feasted, 

spoiled with praise ; 
I revelled in it madly, and I lived its wildest ways. 

"I've done with fame and pleasure, — I have won 

and lost it all. 
Oh, days that I have squandered ! Oh, the deeds 

I can' t recall ! 
The voice that pleased the world awhile, has 

weak and feeble grown ; 
!Now, weary and heart-broken, the old minstrel 's 

left alone ! 

"Alone with my old banjo, 'tis my only earthly 

friend ; 
The only thing in all the world that's faithful to 

the end ; 
For she who loved and praised me, when I sang 

beside her knee. 
Died while I was a wanderer, for years not seeing 

me. 

46 



"I left her, tlien, to please the world; the world 

forsakes me now, 
As I forsook my mother; — Oh, pray help me, 

boys, somehow ! 
Please sing that dear, home song again, — my 

mother's song, once more. 
And let my sad heart feel the thrill it knew in 

days of yore ! " 

He sank down in the forward row, the house was 

hushed and still; 
The solo of his mother's song rose with a tender 

thrill : — 

[Sung.] 

Way down upon the Suanee river, far, far, away; 
There's where my heart is turning ever, 
There's where the old folks stay. 
A]l l^up and down the whole creation, sadly I 

roam. 
Still longing for the old i)lantation. 
And for the old folks at home. 

Chokus: 

All the world is sad and dreary, 

Ev'ry where I roam, 
darkies, how my heart grows weary, 

Far from the old folks at home. 



47 



The old man leaning forward, listened raptured 

to the song, 
While in the furrows on his cheeks the warm 

tears ran along. 
The summer of his life came back with all his 

boyhood dreams, 
His mother, home, and love, and all that dear 

and happy seems. 

Unconsciously his fingers sought the banjo strings 

again, 
And with a weird accompaniment, took up the 

sweet refrain. 
The banjo caught the spirit that is born of other 

things. 
And shook the wondrous, soul-like chords from 

all the quiv'ring strings. 

But when the interlude was played, the old man 

bowed his head. 
As fondly o'er his banjo, as a mother o'er her 

dead. 
And over all the crowded house, were great, 

rough hearts unmanned, 
And tears of pity brushed away by beauty's 

jewelled hand. 

The singer's voice was trembling, as the last 

sweet lines were sung; 
The chords of the old banjo wailing, high above 

them rung : — 

48 



[Sung.] 
One little hut among the bushes, 

One that I love. 
Still fondly to my mem'ry rushes, 

No matter where I rove. 
When shall I see the bees a humming, 

All round the comb ? 
When shall I hear the banjo tumming, 

Down in my good old home 1 

The final chorus followed, and the hoary head 

was raised. 
The light of a new dawning filled the face on 

which all gazed; 
His voice then joined the singers with a blending 

all its own. 
Like rich, and o'er-strung harp strings, with 

plaintive, haunting tone. 
[Chorus sung.] 

The chorus closed, his fingers stilled, his head 

sank down once more. 
The long white hair enshrouding the old banjo as 

before. 

A tearful silence followed, then the manager 

came out, 
And said: — "The announcement that I make 

will please you all, no doubt : 
My comp'ny gives one-half of all this benefit 

shall make, 
To that man with the banjo, for the poor old 

minstrel's sake." 

49 



With tumult of applauses, and heart-moved by 
pity's power, 

Collections swept about the hall, a perfect golden 

shower. 
They heaped it then upon the stage, and cheered, 

and cheered once more, 
To see a sum the footlights ne'er had blazed 

upon before. 

The banjo still was hushed beneath the shroud of 

snow-white hair. 
No word, no sign of gratitude, came from the one 

bowed there; 
He answered not their charity, he heeded not 

their call 
To come before the footlights and acknowledge to 

them all. 

The manager went down to lead him out before 

the crowd, 
He laid his hand upon the head that o'er the 

banjo bowed; 
Then looking up most rev'rently, with voice 

subdued, he said : — 
" His soul has wandered off once more, — the poor 

old minstrel 's dead ! " 

His heart had sung that last refrain upon the 

border land, 
Where mortals, and immortals, in mysterious 

union stand : 
Ay, sang it as his spirit broke this being's prison 

bars. 
And left "life sad and dreary," for a home 

beyond the stars. 

50 



THE CARNIVAL OF LEAVES. 

[Autumn in the Catskill Mountains, New Yoi-k.] 

O now is Beauty's festival, The Carnival of 

Leaves ! 
Tlie wand of autumn, ev'ry where, harmonic 

colors weaves. 
'Tis God's great oratorio, and ev'ry bosom thrills; 
The chorus of the valleys, halleluiah of the hills. 

The Lord is in His temple, and the heav'nly veil 

of blue 
Is floating on His mountain throne, with leaves 

of ev'ry hue ; 
And ev'ry home an altar stands, the altar fire 

aglow, 
Caught from the splendor of the sun on hills and 

vales below. 

The vernal hymn, the summer song, and autumn's 

anthem grand, 
Are mingled in a psalm of life that rolls o'er sea 

and land; 
While "Holy, holy, holy!" the winds and 

waters sing, 
The white clouds floating over all, like angels on 

the wing. 

51 



The breeze inspires the chorus, and the swaying 

boughs beat time ; 
The hills and vales, ay, earth and sky, all blend 

in picture rhyme; 
The leaves are holding carnival, rejoicing nature 

thrills, 
Hosanna in the valleys, halleluiah on the hills ! 



MANY IN ONE. 

Proud waves of Britannia, 

The Emerald Isle, 
The Alps, and the Vineland, 

Fair Italy's smile. 
The Rhine's own blue waters, 

Slav snowlands and sea — 
The land of all lands is 

The Land of the Free ! 

The songs of Slavonia, 

The "• Grod Save The Queen, 
The Marsellaise war hymn. 

And " Wearing The Green," 
The Fatherland's dear songs — 

All these loved may be, 
But the song of all songs is 

The Song of the Free ! 

52 



)5 



The flag of Germania, 

The flag with the cross, 
Of England, of Russia, 

The Crescent, and Joss — 
The flags of all nations 

Are woven in thee, 
Star Spangled Banner, 

The flag of the free ! 

The love for Germania, 

For Erin, for Gaul, 
The love for Britannia, 

The Norselands and all — 
Wherever the homeland. 

Whatever it be. 
Here all blend in one love, 

The love of the Free ! 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

[Written at the request of the Committee of the first Inter-State 6. A. R. 
Encampment in the Central West. The author read it Memorial Day to the 
throng of soldiers and citizens to whom he makes this acknowledgment.] 

I. 

A coy love-maiden, rich in beauty's dow'r, 

With fawn-like step, goes to the trysting place. 
Adorned with virgin sweets to deck the hour 

For one who claims the blush upon her face, — 
So glides fair Spring from out the twilight shades 

That dim the future to our mortal ken. 
Her coquette smiles she with her garlands braids. 

And steals, all blooming, to the hearts of men. 

53 



II. 

ISTot all thine own, O Virgin of tlie years ! 

These love-twined off' rings of the flowery May ;— 
Oar praises thine; our garlands and our tears 

Are for our dead, this Decoration Day. 

III. 

Not with the songs of victors 

Bearing the spoils of war; 
Not with our captive f oemen 

Chained to a conq'ror's car; 
Not with triumphal banners; 

Not with a blood-stained sword; 
Not with the shouts of conquest 

By maddened throngs encored; 
Not to recall the mem'ries 

That ne'er can fade away — 
Not to re-crown our heroes 

We gather here to-day. 

IV. 

Ah, no ! We come as patriots to the altar of the 

free, 
With incense for the sacrifice we've made for 

liberty. 
We come as gray-haired fathers to the sepulchers 

of sons; 
We come as weeping mothers to the graves of 

darling ones; 

54 



We come as mourning widows to the love that 

earth consumes; 
We come as sons of heroes to our father's honored 

tombs. 
We come, a grateful people, to pay tribute to the 

brave 
Who purchased Union for us with the precious 

lives they gave. 

Alas ! not all are here; some loved ones sleep 
Far from the tears that fall from those who weep. 
Upon the fields once crimson with their blood; 
'Neath waves they colored with life's purple flood; 
Or fill the pits near some old prison pen, 
Where ling' ring death made martyrs of our men; 
Or on the jDicket line, in some dark wood, 
Unwarned they fell, and lie near where they stood. 
We strew with flow'rs the graves of these alone; 
Of pray'rs and tears we give to those — unknown. 

YI. 

From out the silence of the slumb'ring past 

There comes a sound like murm' rings of the sea, 
When o'er the sky the storm-clouds, flying fast, 
Arouse the waves to answer sullenly. 
Ah, listen ! As the echoes fuller flow 
They seem a sigh and then the voice of woe. 
A nation's voice entreating with her sons, — 
The children quar'ling on the mother's breast; 

55 



Her pleas unheeded by the wayward ones, 
Till passion reigns and riots unrepressed. 
The voices of the years from out the past 

Are heard more near and clear and audibly. 
Oh hear ! alarum calls — the bugle blast, — 
The tramp of armies — charging cavalry ! 
The beat of drums comes throbbing on the 

ear — 
The roar of battle swelling full and clear; 
The shouts, the groans, and thunder- crash 
we hear 
Of bursting shells and grand artillery ! 

The nation struggles in the throes of war; 
From N"orth, from South, and from the East and 
West 
The armies rush like waves that sweep afar, 
Storm-sped, the sea; mid-ocean, crest to crest, 
They meet and break, fall tempest-spent to 
rest. 
And Euin, Death the reigning conq'rors are. 

With drums unsnared and bugles all unslung, 
The arms are stacked, the columns disarray, 
The nq,tion lives, bathed in the blood of sons. 
Her grievous wounds slow healing day by day. 
And Peace enfolds us in her downy wings. 
The husbandman about his labor sings. 
The sound of industry and art around us rings; 
About the house the happy children play. 
The wheels of Progress roll upon their way. 

56 



VII. 

Within our hearts some glowing mem'ries burn 

Of crucial days, when Union strength was tried ; 
And Shiloh, Corinth, Gettysburg return, 

With Vicksburg and Winchester's glorious ride! 
And some are here who won immortal fame 

At Pea Ridge, Missionary, and Ringgold, 
Whom Grant re-christened with the x)rouder 
name, 

" The first at Chickasaw Bayou," — were told 
To write it on the banners which were borne 

Atop old Lookout, where, above the cloud. 
It followed Hooker, blood-stained, battle torn, 

And o'er our heroes floated, conquest-proud. 
Along the march with Sherman to the sea : 
brave, heroic men ! O fadeless memory ! 

yiii. 

My countrymen, all who hold Union dear. 

How low we prize ITiis boon of liberty ! 
We count the cost in dollars, year by year, — 

Forget the priceless blood paid lavishly. 
We boast a government like Heaven's, where 

All rights are equal with the rich and poor; 
We build our homes and bring our treasures there, 

Nor pause to think what makes our own secure. 
Yet ev'ry blessing we enjoy to-day 

Was born of death, — with blood is sanctified. 
Our hearth-stones rest upon our fathers' clay, 

And we inherit all for which they died. 

57 



IX. 
The cost of Union ! Oh, behold the dead, 

Her ransom i^aid in fratricidal war ! 
And count the blood-drops, each a ruby red, 

In value more than India's jewels are ! 
And name the toils her worshipers have borne 
On land and. sea, all wrought with bleeding 
hands ! 
And tell the woes of all the hearts that mourn, 
And count their tears, unnumbered as the 
sands ! — 
And when in poor, cold calculation lost. 
To this return — Her price is 'bove all cost. 

X. 

Yea, Union ! rarest, best gift of the gods, 

The prize of life when ' tis compared with Thee 
Becomes a choice ignoble as the clods 

The brutish beast doth spurn ; and yet there be 
Base-borns choose life 'fore immortality. 

Not so with these, thine own true worshipers; 
They chose Thee first, above all earthly good, 

And made for Thee, these brave idolaters, 
The sacrificial off' ring of their blood. 

XI. 

*' Sleep on, now, and take your rest;" * 
For the marching and conflict are o'er; 
No alert, stealthy foe shall your fortress invest. 
Nor a fear of surprise shall your slumber molest, 
Never battle-cry waken ye more. 

* Matt., xxvi. 45. 

58 



Oh ! we know that your sleep must be sweet, 

After service so loyal and true; 
While your country's proud honors are laid at 

your feet, 
And the prayers and blessings the millions repeat, 

Flower fragrant, are offered for you. 

Here, e'er brightest the golden rays fall. 
With a lingering kiss for each grave; 
And the moonbeams just here are the softest of all, 
Sentry stars guard ye nightly on Heaven's high 
wall, 
For they watch o'er the sleep of the brave. 

Here, flowers in red, white, and blue. 
Of the " Old Flag" wave overhead; 
And the wild birds sing sweetest, and saddest, 

here, too. 
And the breezes sigh softly and drop the bright 
dew. 
Like tears, on the graves of the dead. 

And the pale autumn leaves fall, and fold 

Bivouacked braves, like the blankets of gray; 
And the winter snow wraps ye secure from the 

cold. 
While the winds pipe the martial airs stepped 
brave and bold 
When ye marched to the front of the fray. 

59 



Haloed Liberty, throned in the skies, 

With the angels, a fond vigil keeps ; 
They heav'n hallow the spot where each soldier 

son lies, 
And they watch o'er them ever with unweary 
eyes — 
For their love neither slumbers nor sleeps. 

Do ye dream, oh ! ye brave, of the fair, 

While ye wait in the chambers of death ? 
Are the visions of glory alluring ye there 
As they did on the field when ye fell leading 
where 
Ye pursued and won Fame's fleeting breath ? 

Do the blessings we breathe in our pray'r 

Follow down through the gates of the tomb ? 
Do the words of the brave and the tears of the 

fair. 
And the fragrance of flowers, perfuming the 
air. 
Pass the sentries of silence and gloom ? 

Oh ! out of the voiceless ye speak 

With a fervor no mortal can tell. 
O rest, BEST, Boys in Blue ! Our poor words are 

weak; 
With a pray'r on the lip and a tear on the cheek, 

So we bless ye, brave hearts, who fell ! 

60 



Far away, in that peace-reigning Land, 

May your columns unbroken unite; 
May your names on the Roster of Heaven all 

stand, 
And the Army in Blue there, a spirit-throng 
grand, 
Form and march a great army in white. 

XII. 

Bear hither, now, the brightest flow'rs of spring, 

And wreathe the colors which they loved so dear. 
And lay them down, an incense offering, 

Upon their graves; and give a grateful tear, 
Heart-warm and true, to heroes' memory. 

Oh, pass with reverent steps the soldier's couch, 
Where hallowed dust is resting peacefully. 

And wind your garlands with a holy touch. 
As though you crowned the Cross of Calvary. 

To save us Heaven, there He was crucified; 
To save us Union, all unselfishly. 

These offered up their lives and died. 

Here let us pause, and o'er their ashes bow. 
While they implead, as may the silent dead, 

That foes be friends. And with uncovered brow, 
In flowers united and in tears here shed. 

Let us renew the solemn, sacred vow, 

To line, as they have died, that Union now. 
And Union henceforth shall forever be : 
A Union, and a Nation of the Feee. 

61 



WOMAN. 

One rosy morn that oped earth's primal year, 

Q-od sat upon His throne of golden rays, 
And viewed His realm of thronging silver spheres, 

And heard them hymning their creator's praise. 
The new born world was floating ' neath the throne 

Endowed with all His fulness, Eden blessed; 
His noblest work the scepter swayed alone, 

Man, formed of God, his image self-expressed. 

It was " all good." Infinity was filled 

All-glorious, around, beneath, above ; 
A universe the Master-Workman willed. 

And wrought of wisdom, beauty, grace, and love. 
Where would a hue adorn the lily's bloom ? 

What melody the wild bird's song amend ? 
What fragrant sweet enhance the flow' rs' perfume? 

What othergood nowwith earth's fullness blend? 

But God resolved to better what was good, 

And touch perfection with a grace supreme; 
So crowned creation with fair Womanhood, 

Gave her to earth to bless it, and redeem. 
Last from His hand, transcending all He gave, 

God' s loveandgoodness inEarth-beauty dressed; 
Last near His Cross, the first to find His grave; 

Mother, man' s first love — Wife, his last and best. 

62 



CHRISTMAS WITH MY OLD MOTHER. 

Oh ! I never felt so happy as upon last Christmas 
night, 
Coming near the little home where mother lives, 
The familiar scenes of boyhood and the window 
with the light, 
And the joy anticipation ever gives. 
Eager fingers tingled gladly as I opened the old gate, 

And my feet, impatient, hurried to the door; 
Blither ear had caught my footstep and her love 
remembered well; 
On the threshold mother met me as before. 

Oh ! I clasped her to my bosom as she used to 
clasp her boy, 
While her tears and loving kisses answered 
mine. 
Then she led me to the table, where the good 
things kept for me 
Were all waiting with the chair of auld langsyne. 
She remembered ev'ry thing I liked, and how to 
make it best, 
Serving me as though my place was still a 
child's: 
Cakes and jellies, home-made candy, and ev'ry 
choicest thing. 
Heaped before me with caresses and her smiles. 

63 



! I seemed a very boy again as we sat talking 
there, 
And she told how she had thought of, prayed for 
me; 
How I'd been a joy and comfort to her all her 
widowed life; 
And her spirit, like an angel's, I could see. 
How in ev'ry whistling boy that passed she heard 
me coming home, 
So she had love-waited for me all the years; 
Then, arising from the table, she would stand 
caressing me. 
As she breathed on me a blessing through her 
tears. 

When I went to bed she came to me and tucked 
the covers 'round, 
In the soothing way that only mothers know. 
Oh ! I felt so blissful, peaceful, and so full of 
tender love. 
That all-silent came my full heart's overflow. 
Happy, grateful, joyful tears I shed: yea, cried 
myself to sleep. 
Dreaming in a' heav'nly dreamland free from 
cares; 
In my boyhood home and bed again, the covers 
tucked around. 
Safely guarded by my dear old mother' s prayers. 



64 



JOAN OP AKC. 

[Pronounce— Jesu, Ta-su; Marie, Mary; Or-le-ans ; Compiegne, Com-pe- 
ane ; Vaucouleurs, Vo-coo-ler ; Eouen, Ru-en; Troyes, Trwa; Beauvais, 
Bova.] 

[Scene 1st : The Maid's soliloquy on leaving home. Joan on the hills 
with her flocks.] 

Joanna finds no rest. The voices come, 
They whisper in her ear the heavenly call, 
And all the day they bid her do Grod's will. 
My saints, good Cath'rine and sweet Margaret, 
Appear in angel visions to entreat. 
And press the holy mission, " Go, save France ! " 
Oh ! can it be a humble peasant girl 
Whose life has been to watch her grazing flocks 
On flow'ry hills, or in the woody vales. 
Is called of Heaven to lead great armies on ? 
Seers say that France, by wicked woman lost, 
A virgin pure shall save, her king re- crown. 
A peasant maid shall, at her own life's cost. 
Beat with her banner English archers down. 
Since 'tis with weakest things Gfod rules the 

strong, 
He with a shepherd maid may overthrow 
The English might, and save all-bleeding France. 
Last night I saw in dreams our cities sacked. 
And British greed, insatiate with the spoils, 
Made confiscate our proud ancestral homes. 

65 



Their swords were dripping with my kinsmen's 

blood, 
And trampling hopeful fields, and vintage 

grounds, 
They drove their captives at wide ruin's front. 
And made them waste the children's growing 

bread. 
I saw Orl'ans, key city of our land, 
Beleaguered by the foe. Engirdling death 
Pressed in the walls and ravaged near and far. 
King Henry Fifth's three-handed fiend of war, 
Fire, Famine, Ruin, blasted blooming spring. 
And made our fertile land a darkened waste ; 
Save here and there alone some hardy twigs 
Put forth green leaves about a blackened trunk, 
Like children clinging to a mother dead. 
And when I weeping woke, the voices said, 
" Save Orleans ! " I can no longer doubt ; 
The vows of God are on me, I must go. 
And I will go — Jesu, Marie ! 
Let me but feel the Arm Unseen uphold, 
Thine eye o'erwatching all my thorny path, 
A waiting blessing when my trials end, 
Or welcoming to glory when I fall — 
And with my woman's faith I will begin 
The dark and danger- clouded way alone ! 
Leave home and friends ! Dissever all the ties 
My childhood years have bound ! — an exile go 
From all that I have ever known and loved ! 

66 



Farewell, ye hills, whose forms I know so well ! 
Upon whose breast I 've watched the dark-eyed 

Eve 
Meet Golden Day, and kiss him long good-bye 
When he took leave, — as I must now of you ! 

leafy vales, ye have bent over me 

With cooling breath, and cradled me to sleep, 

And heard the voices of these later years 

Communing with me, wooing me away ! 

How like your shadow's chill crept over me, 

Lies now this parting sadness on my heart ! — 

Farewell, my bleating charge, my gentle lambs ! 

No more Joanna now shall lead ye forth, 

'Not bear the yeanling bosomed from the storm. 

Nor call ye to the shelf ring fold at night ! 

Ye fields, ye fruits and flowers, my father's 

house, 
The birds about the eaves — my mother ! — home ! — 
Farewell ! — farewell ! 

good, All-loving Lord, 
Forgive the tears Joanna cannot stay ! 
Right willing is her spirit to obey, 
But parting wrings the heart ! strengthen her, 
And let her lean upon Thee all the way ! — 
Oh, hark ! the heavenly voices comfort me ! 
The smiling faces of my saints approve ! 

1 go to succor France, sent from above. 



67 



BETE AT AL OF JOAN AT COMPEIGNE. 

[The officers, jealous of her success, induce Joan to lead a sortie 
through the gates, then treacherously close them behind her, shutting her 
out alone. The Bergundians capture her.] 

Come on, my brave, ye follow La Pucelle ! 
My king of heaven commands me lead ye forth l 
Behold the open gate, and yond our wall 
The sieging Bergund foe ! W ill soldiers now 
Bleach out and fear to do what woman dares 1 
Have ye forgot Orl'ans ? and how my name 
Made Bergunds there desert the English cause ? 
And when the snowy dove came floating down, 
And perched upon my banner in the charge, 
Ye all do know God made it consecrate ! 
For when I gained the front where beaten down 
Ye turned despairing from the English blows, 
No sooner touched the wall this holy wand. 
Than, like as Moses opened wide the sea, 
It made through crested foes a conq'ring way I 
Victorious, ye followed it at Meun, 
At Jergeau, Beaugency, and jproud Patay ; 
And ere a season's change, defeat unknown, 
Ye freed all-ravaged France beyond the Loire. 
Look ye, the Bergunds see our portals wide, 
And charge upon our walls ! Now let us cry 
Patay and Compeigne, and meet them there, 
Outside the gate, with " Jesu, Marie ! " 
As Isra'l's pillared cloud of old did lead, 
My snow-white banner goes before this day ; 
Fight where its lilies wave, and, under God, 

68 



'Twill float above a glory field to-night! 
Come, die for France and live immortally, 
Or live as serfs, and die eternally ! 

Go back, Bergundian foes, this land is ours. 
Ruled by my King of Heaven ! If ye will fight 
'Gainst Him, behold our welcome out the wall! — 
O saints, the gate is barred ! Shut out alone — 
Betrayed by traitors ! Jesu ! — Marie ! — 
Mine hour is come, my fateful month of May ! 
Yaucouleurs, Orleans, now Compeigne ! — 
Once more, then Paradise ! — Poor La Pucelle, 
When with your flocks, how many storms you 

braved 
To bear a bleating lamb within the fold. 
And now shut out, with none to hear your cry ! — 
O bleeding France, who now will bind thy 

vrounds 1 

Back! back! profane Bergundians! Your hands 
Pollute the Maid of Orleans ! Withhold ! 
Or leaping from this lily-bordered cloud 
Will flash the smiting bolts of Heaven's King ! 
Alas, my voices come to me no more ! — 
O Jesu, like to Thee, at last betrayed, 
And by the people I was sent to save. 
Delivered to mine enemies ! — Lead on ; 
To Calv'ry now I bear my heavy cross. 



69 



MAETYEDOM OF JOAIST. 

[Scene : Joan at the stake, surrounded by executioners, soldiers, 
priests, citizens of Kouen.] 

Joanna here must die. These stony priests, 
And bristling soldier ranks, by frowning mass 
Of English faces pressed, show mercy's end. 

Rouen, Rouen, must thou be from hence 
The doorless home wherein I must abide ? 

1 fear that for my death the storms to come 
Will wrack thee more than my low, grassy roof. 
Forgive me all good people ! And, all priests, 

I beg the mass for poor Joanna's soul ! 

To this end was I born : to die for France. 

For thirteen years the saints have thus fore- 
warned. 

They called me from Domremey's bleating hills, 

And led me on through bloody fields of war. 

Thrice seven days learn' d men of God did prove ; 

Sent questing monks to search my peasant life ; 

Then set their seal I was divinely called. 

The holy dove came down at Orleans ; 

White butterflies bear witness at Troyes ; 

The wisest great ones have attested me ; 

The kings unthroned have begged me reinstate ; 

The nations asked me name the rightful pope ; 

My lily banner ruled the chance of war, 

Nor knew defeat till Charles was crowned at 
Rheims ; 

Nor did I have, or hope for recompense. 

Except the smile of God in saving France. 

70 



So Heaven's King, with all these mighty signs, 
Approve the doing ye condemn this day. 
Ye've not judged fair, denied my plea to Rome. 
For three score days I have been dungeon-chained. 
Debarred from mass, from woman's face, rude 

guards, 
With sleepless watch, so hired, upbraiding me. 
And yet ye found no poor excuse for death. 
Until your surpliced craftsmen forged the tale. 
Ye pledged me freedom and the Eucharist, 
If I would change my garb for woman's dress ; 
And though my voices bade me keep my robe, 
I yielded to the hope, and was ensnared. 
Ye gave it out I had abjured, changed dress, 
Then gave me no exchange ; but to my cell 
Brought tools to swear I wore man's dress again. 
On this false charge am I adjudged to burn. 
Ah, cruel England, and ungrateful France, 
Not I, but you at Rouen have been tried ! 
For all the tribune that condemned me there, 
From judges to recorders of the wrong, 
Were French ; but princes, captains, statesmen, all 
Who bribed the judges, threat' ning death to him 
That whispered mercy's plea, were Englishmen ! 
Ah, dark Beauvais, my vict'ries lost for you 
A diocese ! Will my death win you one ? 
This is my last campaign, and not untried 
I come a warrior to this holy war. 
Two Mays ago I saved Orl'ans and France ; 
My voices said this May oped Paradise. 

71 



I've suffered much from evil-minded men, 
But known right little the hid face of Christ. 
I can say nothing else than I have said 
From first until my death : — I came from God. 

most sweet Lord, and if Thou lovest me, 
I pray Thee tell me what to answer more ! 
As for this dress, by Thy commandment, Lord, 
I know it was put on ; but I know not 
How best to leave it now — help me, I pray ! 

Alas ! is there no mercy ? Must I die 
So hard a death ? This virgin casket yield, 
With all its jewel wealth of maiden charms ? , 
The airy step ? the arm of graceful strength 1 
The ringing voice ? glad health ? good heart ? 

sweet hope ? 
And all the pulsing life my being knows, 
To burn and shrivel in consuming flame ? 
Beauvais, it is by thee I die. Oh, spare ! 
Death is so hard a thing, we fear enough 
When, in the latest night, he softly comes 
To kindly snuff our flick' ring candle out ! 
Why, then, with torture multiply my woes ? 
Oh, choose some gentler way to serve your cause 
Than burning with profane, revengeful zeal, 
This temple Christ himself did dedicate! 
Ah, hear yon bell now calling souls to Gfod ! 
The peaceful wooing of the pleading tones ! 
How sweetly to His presence He doth call ! 
Yet will ye send me there a torture way ? 

73 



No pity shown ? Ah, yes, behold the tears 

Of executioners, and soldiers steeled ! 

And weeping mercy melts the hating throng ! 

Beanvais alone is flint ! — Why, then, go on ! 

My yoices whisper, " Child of God, fear not 

Thy martyrdom ; for we will bring thee now 

In flaming chariot, glorying to God ! ' ' 

Good father Pierre, bring from the church a 

cross 
And hold it lifted straight before mine eyes. 
That through the last, dark, trembling steps of 

death, 
My soul may go still looking to the Lord ! 
Stay, here is one. — precious Cross of Christ ! 
I hallow thee with tears, anoint thee o' er 
With fragrance holier than the altar knows — 
The virgin off' ring of my dying breath ! 

The flames enthrall me ! Oh, my blist'ring feet 
Are thrust with pains, like Calv'ry's piercing 

nails ! 
O Rouen, may my ashes bosomed here, 
Ne'er breed rank curses on your childrens' heads. 
Oh, how this choking air writhes in my breast, 
As did the gall my dying Master drank ! 
Lift up the cross on high, I cannot see ! 
O Jesu — Marie ! — will death come soon ! 
My heart breaks — with woe ! — Come quickly. 

Lord ! — 
Forgive — oh ! — Cath'rine ! — Margaret ! — Jesu ! — 

73 



DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 

L Written at request of Sir Knights for annual Conclave. Eead by Ella 
June Meade.] 

In tlie stories told of the knights of old, 

W ith their armor bright and their hearts so bold ; 

With the sword and lance and the song and dance, 

And the ladies fair of these brave gallants ; 

Of their fiery steeds and their daring deeds, 

And their mottoes taken from Christian creeds ; 

Of the challenge glove that they threw to prove 

Knightly honor true, or a gauge in love ; 

Of their hate of wrong, and their friendship 

strong. 
How they ever helped those in need along ; — 
So the song bard writes, and the world delights 
In the minstrel fame of the storied knights. 

Though the knights of yore ride the list no more, 

And the armors rust that they proudly wore, 

There is knighthood still, and chivalric thrill, 

And the sword and lance, but they do not kill. 

In the leal rites we are all true knights. 

And we love the story a bard recites, 

Of fraternity and of chivalry, 

However olden and plain it be. 

Ye have heard this told. 'Tis a story old. 

Growing brighter, grander, as years have rolled. 

74 



In the Grecian clime, and 'twas in the time 

Of King Dionysius, king of crime. 

When his wily art won the senate's heart 

With republic, liberty to part. 

And there bowing down under freedom's frown, 

To vote Dionysius a kingly crown ; 

When none dare oppose, then bold Damon rose, 

The one patriot, braving freedom's foes. 

' ' Though I stand alone, ere thou take the throne, 

Dionysius, thou shalt be rightly known. 

Here I tell thee, king, though the word doth 

sting. 
Thou art that heartless, most dreaded thing, 
Eoyal Tyrant ! " "Hold ! " cried the nobles old, 
All dismayed by the hero's words so bold. 
Dionysius cowed. Then the angry cloud 
Rushing o'er his brow, burst in thunders loud. 
" Seize and bind him, slaves ! 'Tis a traitor 

raves 
At the royal power he madly braves ! " 
Quickly Damon sprang, and his dagger sang. 
As it sought the king, and the slave shields rang ! 
Overcome, then bound, with the guards around, 
'Fore the king brave Damon, foredoomed, was 

found. 
Dionys'us spake : " Haste, ye guardsmen ! Take 
Him to instant death ! Let the cross ye make 
Be for pain and woe. Forward ! Let us go 
Unto where a man-tree soon shall grow." 



75 



Damon proudly smiled: "Since ye judge so 

mild, 
I may beg three hours for wife and child ? 
E'en a tiger, worst of all brutes, will first 
Let the victim play ere she slake her thirst." 
" Not a moment. On ! " "I will give a pawn 
Of a life made hostage while I am gone." 
But, all plea in vain, like a fun'ral train, 
They went forth to the crucifixion plain. 

As they neared the end, lo ! the gods did send 
Faithful Pythias, Damon's bosom friend. 
"Hear me now, O king, and when time shall 

bring 
The dread messenger with the noiseless wing. 
To thy royal bed ; ere thou join the dead. 
It will ease thy soul if it then be said 
Thou hast mercy shown. Ere the span hath 

flown, 
Hear the plea that one day shall be thine own. 
Set the pris'ner free, I will hostage be. 
And 'tis but four hours I ask of thee. 
Let him go his way to his home and say 
The farewell of love that must be for aye. 
And when thou shalt learn that the hourly urn 
Hath run four, and Damon doth not return, 
Then no court shall try ; no appeal will I, 
But for Damon, Pythias then shall die." 

"It doth please me well. When the urn shall tell 
E'en six hours, for thee there is heaven or hell." 

76 



Like a bird when freed, on the swiftest steed, 
To his wife and child did brave Damon speed. 
But two hours were lost ere the rein was tossed 
To his wond'ring slave, and the threshold crossed. 

Oh, that parting scene ! with their babe between, 
So embraced they suffered the sorrow keen. 
What their bosoms stirred, and the fait' ring 

word, 
Only angels saw, only angels heard. 
Know we only this, that a ling' ring kiss 
Hushed the sweet babe's cry ; that her lips met 

his ; 
There their spirits clung, while their hearts were 

wrung, 
And life-long farewell sorrow-stilled the tongue. 

Tlie fourth hour died, and, with hasty stride, 
He rushed forth to make the returning ride. 
But Lucullus' hate, to make Damon late, 
Killed the horse. Dishonor and death await ! 
No ! a traveler through rode a swift steed, too ; 
And this Damon seized, and away he flew. 
How the shadows run from the setting sun ! 
€an he yet return ere the hours are done ? 
Firm and white his face. Time and Honor race, 
And he spurs his steed to a whirlwind pace ; 
For the life at stake ; for his honor's sake ; 
As he rides the receding earth doth shake. 
On the echoing height smiles the sunshine bright, 
Like a fun'ral pall drawing o'er is night. 

77 



And the good steed thrills with the thought that 

fills 
Its doomed rider's heart, and it flings the hills 
And the vales behind ; like the hunter' s hind ; 
As the mountain torrents leap and wind, 
On its course it ran. It is more than man ; 
' Tis the gods to save him if they can ! 

On his straining ejes like a paradise, 
Syracuse fair temples before him rise, 
And upon the plain winds the solemn train 
To the crucifixion cross again. 
Now it wavers, stands ! Now a pris'ner's bands 
Are unloosed ; a cross rises o'er the sands ! 
Comes the victim near. Damon pales with fear, 
For he knows 'tis Pythias. Can they hear ? 
All in vain his cry, for the leaves low sigh, 
And a mocking echo, alone reply. 

He devours the way ; will the gods delay 
The dread sacrifice ? Now the soldiers stay 
For the tyrant's word. Not a hand is stirred. 
Hark ! Among the hills a far sound is heard ! 
Then a ringing shout like a battle rout ; 
To the level plain wildly rushes out 
A foam-covered steed ; and the sweat drops bead 
His grim rider' s face ! Will they hear and heed 
His appealing cry ? "Ho ! hold ! hold ! 'tis I, 
It is Damon ! Pythias shall not die ! " 
See ! they turn, they hear J And they raise a cheer ! 
From the cross they take him they now revere ! 

78 



As joy parts the throng Damon speeds along, 
Until honor's arms enfold friendship strong. 
"Live the friends!" is cried as the tears are 

dried ; 
And " His horse henceforth only gods shall ride ! " 

The king asks the cause of the wild applause, 
And lo ! e' en from him Faithful Friendship draws 
A relenting mood. " Here let none intrude. 
Bring the pris'ners now. E'en when woman's 

wooed 
Love was ne'er more true, that the world e'er 

knew. 
Ah, for love like this, what would man not do ?" 

"Bring them forth!" he said, and the twain 

were led 
To the throne, to hear the last sentence read. 
" So ye came, in time ; yours is love sublime, 
And shall live in story and deathless rhyme. 
Though to slay a king is a monstrous thing, 
Yet 'tis lost in praise, so great love doth bring. 
Ye shall both go free ; and I ask of thee 
That the third in Friendship the king may be." 



79 



MONEY. 

A Phidias, with magic hand, 

Turned worthless marble into gold ; 
A Raphael, with wizard wand, 

So changed a canvas, we are told. 
The gift, God-given, must be right ; 

Then make a million if you can. 
Man may make money, much, or mite ; 

But money does not make the man. 

With lightning's power Edison 

Coins millions out of airy sound ; 
The Klondike has its nuggets where 

Brave-hearted men have fortunes found. 
To make it Soon don' t make it wrong, 

Nor Slow make right, whate'er the plan. 
Get honestly, and soon, or long ; 

Yet money does not make the man. 

To earn or gain, by hand or brain, 

Is Eden's fiat. More or less 
Is not the law that doth restrain ; 

But How we get what we possess. 
All wealth, ill-gotten, is a curse. 

And is accursed if we abuse 
The usance : hoarded, it is worse. 

Get right, use right, and then you can 
With mite, or millions, make a man. 

80 



SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 

There's a sigh on the breeze that is not of the 

breeze, 

There's a moan on the wind, wherever it blows 

That is not of the wind. What is it? God 

knows. 

He is biding the time that His wisdom decrees. 

There's a cry in the night, like a wild beast at bay, 
As if maddened by hunger, enraged by its 

wounds ; 
But the cry of the night is as nought to the 
sounds 
Of the something we somehow hear plainly each 
day. 

There are heavenly tears, not the dew, nor the 
rain ; 
He who wept o'er a city may weep o'er a world. 
Woe, woe when the doom of his vengeance is 
hurled — 
The pray'r of the past is not lifted in vain. 

Hark, the tramping of feet like a marshalling 
host ! 
Hear the breaking of chains and the shout of 

the free I 
Now behold man a Man, as God made him to be ! 
And the Least is not slave to the lord of the Most. 

81 



JOHN IRVING: NO HOME. 

[Founded on the facts, reported by the city papers. A real, not a 
fancy picture.] 

"What's the charge 'gainst this man?" "There 
is no charge, Your Honor ; 
He was found on the street an' had no place to 
go. 
Cryin' there like a babe, so I guess he is sick, 
' Judge ; 
But he has n't done nothin' unlawful, I know." 

"Well, sir, what is your name?" He arose in 
his answer, 
An old man bending low with the troubles of 
years ; 
With the weight of his woe, and his burden of 
sorrow ; 
With the wreck of his hopes, and the blight of 
his tears. 

Long white hair veiled his face, as the snow of 

the winter 

Covers glory departed, when summer is gone ; 

In the face was the soul, pleading there at life's 

window. 

Where they starve and they die with the world 



looking on. 



82 



Eeebly clutching the rail to support the gaunt 
body, 
"My name 's John Irving, sir;" was the old 
man' s reply ; 
*'Well, sir, where is your home?" His Honor 
said kindly, 
Showing pity he felt in his voice and his eye. 

^'0 1 have n't a home, sir! No place in the 
world, Judge, 
Where John Irving can lay down his head and 
find rest ! 
Eut I once had a home, and though humble, 
'twas happy ; 
There I loved, and was loved, by the truest and 
best. 

*' But it's broken up, gone — and I am a wanderer ! 

I lost ev'rj^'thing dear ; but nobody cares now ! 

No, it wasn't my fault. Judge; 'twas sickness, 

misfortune ; 

I have lived by God's law ; by the sweat of my 

brow. 

^' I had friends ; but my name, now I never hear 
spoken ; 
Not a full meal to eat have I had in a year. 
Only send me some place where a kind word is 
spoken, 
With a roof and some bread ; for I won't be 
long here." 

83 



"I've but one place to send yon, and that is the 
prison. 
I am sorry ; I' 11 see that they use you well there. ' ' 
Down the time-furrowed cheeks ran the tears of 
his answer : 
For a kind word was more than the old man 
could bear. 

% ^ ^ V: ^ 

" Where 's your home ! " asked the Jailor, pre- 
paring to write it : 
"My home 's now the prison, — will soon be the 
grave !" — 
Then a groan, and right there in the Jail hall of 
Justice 
He fell dead ! The injustice humanity gave. 

For he died of Starvation ! The card they pinned 
on him, 
As he lay in the Morgue, read, ' ' John Irving : 
no home." 
Years of toiling and serving, then died a Jailed 
Beggar ! 
Earned a Palace, died Homeless ! The lesson — 
Siloam ! 

In a great. Christian city, died friendless, of hunger !: 
Starved to death, where there 's many a bright 
banquet hall ! 
In a city of hospitals, died in a prison ! 
Homeless died in a land that boasts free homes 
for all ! 

84 



In a city of millionaires, died without money ! 
Died a slave where the flag of the free is un- 
furled ! 
Yea, enslaved by misfortune, fell dead at the 
feet of 
The Statue of Liberty Enlight'ning the World ! 

With a tax for the poor, the endowment of hos- 
pitals, 
It is doled and "red- taped" till philanthropy 
fail. 
With all Heathendom helped by the hand of free 
missions, 
Christians starve in the street till they die in 
the jail. 

We are paying and praying across the wide 
ocean. 
Looking, helping afar for His kingdom to come, 
While God's Angel Recorder looks down in our 
doorway, 
And with tears writes against us: "John 
Ieving: No Home." 

Ope thy long-blinded eyes, O thou Angel of 
Justice ! 
And thou, Angel of Mercy, bend down thine 
ear ! 
Thou, Sweet Charity, help "the poor that ye 
have with ye ;" 
Reach afar ; but first succor the perishing near. 

85 



WHAT IT IS TO BE POOR. 

All, you do not know what it is to be poor ! 

The favored of fortune ne'er feel the curse. 
If you had but borne all the poor have borne, 

You'd be what they are, or be something worse. 
toil till your body is racked with pain, 

And moan where nobody but God e'er hears ; 
Eat bread that is bought with your own life 
blood, 

And drink of the cup that is sweat and tears, 
And then you will wonder they so endure ; 
For you would not bear what is borne by the poor. 

Did you ever sew till your eyes were blind ? 

Till fingers were numb and your brain on fire % 
Repeating : "Three cents for each shirt I make ; 

The ' lab'rer is worthy of his hire ! ' 
To-morrow the rent for the month is due. 

No coal in the house and the snow drifts high ; 
If I pay the rent I can buy no bread — 

Oh, but for the children I'd dare to die ! " 
No, no ! when the life is a pleasure tour, 
One never can know what it is to be poor. 

Have you begged for work % for a plac e to slave, 
Deep down in a mine with death waiting there 

Concealed in the gloom without sun, or star. 
And lurking in rocks and the poisoned air \ 



There burrowed in dirt where you breathed death 
dust, 

From day nnto day and from year unto year 1 
Your home not your own, and yonr hope a crust, 

An heirloom of toil for the children dear ? 
When you have thus slaved, life a desert moor, 
You'll know in your heart, what it is to be poor. 

Have you watched alone till your loved one died. 

And then made the box that you could not buy, 
And carried your dead to the Potter's Field, 

With never a hearse, nor a human nigh 1 
There hid your own child in a pauper' s place, 

You digging and filling the little grave. 
Too poor e'en to mark for your future tears 

The spot where you buried the life you gave ? 
No, no ! May God leave you your own secure, 
While you learn from mercy to pity the poor. 

There cometh a time when loved, lands and gold, 

Will slip from us all with a fleeting breath ; 
And empty and helpless, the hands that fold 

Be cold as a pauper's hands crossed in death. 
Then poor as the poorest, your soul shall stand 

Where coin is not current, and caste unknown ; 
Your life, though like others, as good, as grand. 

You'll scorn, and wait suppliant at His throne. 
Ah, then you will feel, you will know, I 'm sure, 
The beggar you'll be — what it is to be poor. 



87 



POORHOUSE ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 

[A woman, a member of a wealthy Eastern family, being estranged, 
left her home and went West. Misfortune swept away her earnings, and 
in her old age she foimd a home in the Poorhouse. Soon after, she was 
found one evening sitting by her bed, reading the pathetic poem, "Rock Me 
To Sleep, Mother," and weeping. That night the Death-Angel came, and 
the tired feet rested on the "eoholess shore."] 

"Rock me to sleep, motlier, rock me to sleep — " 
Why does tlie reader pause, why does she weep ? 
Withered the quiv'ring lips, head bowing low, 
Careworn the wrinkled face where the tears flow ; 
Far from her childhood home, old and alone, 
No one, and nothing, to claim as her own ; 
Fortune and friends are all lost in the past, 
Found in her old age the Poorhouse at last. 

"Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!" — 
Asked as when weary of playing " Bo Peep " 
Long, long ago, she would turn to that breast. 
Yearning for love-words and kisses and rest ; 
So she to-night is a grief-child once more ; 
"Mother, come back from the echoless shore ! " 
What do her dim eyes see ? what does she hear ? 
Why does she linger where tear follows tear 1 
Over and over, in sobs low and deep — 
" Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! " 

Morn came : the sun, like a fond mother's face. 
Smiled till Earth woke from the night's dark em- 
brace ; 

83 



Hushed were those lips in that peaceful repose 
Only the friendless who finds it e'er knows. 
Mother had come from the echoless shore, 
Clasped her again in her arms as of yore ; 
Open the book lay beside the lone dead, 
Tear-marked the lines o'er and o'er she had read; 
Nevermore here e' er to wake, or to weep — 
" Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep !" 

"Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! " — 
Oh ! when the death-shadows 'round the heart 

creep ! 
When all the strife and the toiling are done, 
Empty and prizeless the fame we have won ; 
Friends whom we loved long estranged, or long 

dead, 
Hopes that we cherished all withered and fled — 
Fondly we turn to our childhood again, 
Longing for love and caresses, as then ; 
Once more the words from the longing heart, leap: 
"Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! " 



89 



ANOTHER DAY APART. 

A glow in the east, in the trees a song, 

A hiding of trembling stars, 
The darkness is done and the prisoned sun 

Is breaking the golden bars. 
Another day, and far away 

My darling, still thou art ! 
How few they be ! why then live we 

Another day apart ? 

The cloud-flaming torch of the dying day 

Burns low on the western hill. 
The shadows that creep from their cavern homes 

Float down on the canyon rill. 
Another day ! I sadly say. 

As to my lonely heart 
Comes crowding in the thought we've been 

Another day apart. 

The lights are all dim and the voices low. 

And softly the watchers tread ; 
A clinging caress with the blinding tears. 

The last, long good-bye is said. 
Another day ! another day ! 

Tears will in mem'ry start. 
And then alway a lone heart say, 

"Another day apart ! " 

90 



A windowless home where no sunlight comes, 

And love-joys are all unknown, 
At rest, side by side, as the seasons go. 

No longer to be alone. 
Another day — another day — 

Ah me ! the poor still heart 
No more can give a place to live 

Another day apart. 



THE KAIL WAY ENGINEER. 

With his armor bright, and a fiery steed, 

A heart that is brave and bold. 
He's a nobler knight in his toil-stained blue 

Than th' Cavalier in gold. 
He can throw the gauntlet that holds the rein, 

And challenge the world's great clan, 
By the test of glory's true tourney deeds. 

To bring forth a manlier man. 

'Tis a snow white plume that he wears by day, 

At night a red plume of flame ; 
With the motto " Duty," upon his shield, 

Below, "The Unknown," his name. 
And the inky mane of his panting steed 

Floats out on the rushing wind, 
As the echoed neigh and the ringing shoe. 

Tell the hills that are flung behind. 

91 



oil ! he rides the front of the world's advance, 

The modern personified ; 
With the stains of strife for the good of men, 

His knightlier hands are dyed. 
You may tell in story, you may sing in song, 

Of th' courtly Cavalier ; 
But the haloed hero in God's great clan, 

Is the bold, brave engineer. 



THE WIDOW'S COW IN THE POUND. 

' Tis thrue ! they hev takin me cow, suhr ! 

They drove her roight off to the pound ! 
An' how Oi will git her, God knows, suhr, 

Oi havn't a dollar around ! 
The officer's cost, an' her kapin, 

Foive days she has been from me now, 
Is more than me whole washin' airnins : 

They've ordhered the sale iv the cow ! 

Out here all the lots are shtill open. 

There's only me little hut near ; 
The cow couldn't bother a neighbor. 

The grass goes to waste all the year. 
An' yit, way out here the Pound Hawkers 

Hev coom f uhr the sake iv their pay. 
An' takin the cow from the childer, 

Fuhr a tin the grass by the way ! 

92 



They rhoide by the rich breakin' law, suhr, 

Roight there in the heart iv the town ; 
"They're savin' the grass on the common, 

Whoile souls on the square sre thramped down ; 
'There's dhrinkin', an' gamblin', an' rhobbin', 

All croimes dhraggin' men down to hell, 
But t' kape up the town an' the law, suhr, 

The poor widow's cow they must sell ! 

The woman in scarlet an' jewels, 

Who's bhreakin', not only the law. 
But hearts iv the wolves, an' the mithers, 

She was not the woman they saw ! 
■They passed by her house, an' its shplendor ; 

Her trespassin' they couldn' t see ; 
'But out in the hut on the common. 

They found a poor widow loike me ! 

The cow was the one hilp Oi had, suhr, 

The childer all too shmall to work ; 
An' not bein' shtrong, to support 'em, 

Oi 've had to live hard, an' not shirk. 
^Oi've takin in washin', an' oirnin', 

An' sold out the shpare milk around, 
Oi'd save by milk-shtarvin' the childer — 

But now the cow's gone to the Pound ! 

'They've ordhered her sold ! Is this justice ? 

So blind, or in shpirit so dead, 
It canH take the grog from a dhrunTcard, 
But can taTcefrom childer their hread ! 

93 



Thank God ! there's a city Up Yonder — 
Where law fuhr the rich an' the poor — 

Is the same: — an' there's bread fuhr the orphans. 
An' rhest fuhr me there, Oi am shure ! 

You'll pay it? — Oi shan't lose the cow, suhr? 

God bless ye ! — fuhr He sint ye here ! 
You'll always be kept in my pray'rs, suhr — 

All Oi can give now is a tear ! 
The law iv the land may be faulty. 

But good hearts hev the same law iv love 
Fuhr the poor, an' the widow, an' orphan, 

The same here below, as above ! 



JAKE'S TANKSGIBBIN' DREAM. 

Hush, coon, don't fro yo dirt outer me ! 
Ise innersent 's a chile, yes I be : 

Yo bettah heah me splain, though, 

Befoh yo was' a rainbow 

A paintin' up dat story: 

I'll brung de facs befoh yo. 
An' dey will show dat de truf am dis : 
Ise one dese heah somnambulis. 

De Pres'dent make dat Proclermashun, 
Wot tole de folks ol froo de nashun, 

Dat Tursday be Tanksgibbin' ; 

Dis yeah dey make good libbin' , 
94 



Dat day ol mus' do nuffin 
But eat ros' turkey 'n stufiin', 
An' rang de bell fob people t' meet, 
An' praise de Lawd fob turkey t' eat. 

De night befoh come Tanksgibbin' Day, 
I feel r d like ter eat an' ter pray, 

In good ole Mef dis fashion ; 

An' den de tot come flashin' 

Dat I'd no turkey 'n roostah ; 

I kno'd dar was no use, sah, 
To ax f oh trus' ; so crawled inter bed, 
Wid turkey iioppin' 'round in my head. 

I lay wake bout dat proclermashun. 

My poh heaht fight de strong temptashun 

Ter grumble at my blessin', 

Life wi no turkey 'n dressin' ; 

I ax foh grace, Lawd heah me, 

Den all de crowin' neah me 
Not make me murmah; kase 'twant no use ! 
I fall sleep tinkin' ob chicken roos' . 

I dream ob chickens, an' turkey, 'n geese, 
01 baked wid stuffin' , f ryin' in grease — 

Dis niggah's head want right, sah; 

I dream way long in de night, sah, 

My henhouse swarmed wid chickens ; 

An' den, wot beats de dickens, 
I dream I go dar, shoh's yo libbin'. 
An' git bof han's full foh Tanksgibbin' ! 

97 



An' jes 's I reacli de henhouse doah, 
Wy, sumpfin' splode wid Hellgate roah, 

Dat scah me out my senses ! 

I tink ob doah an' fences, 

But bein' sudden wokin', 

De place ol dark an' smokin', 
I tot Ise dead, an', froo some mistake, 
De Debil come an' gobble ole Jake. 

An' jes 's I pray de trone ob grace, 

A blazin' light shined right in my face ! 

I look ter see Ole Demon — 

Good Lawd, dar stood Marse Lehman, 

His gun on me a gassin' 

Jes like de eberlassin' ! 
My han's was empty, an' onter de groun'. 
Some gol' leg pullets squatted aroun'. 

Bress Gawd, Marse Lehman, am dat yo ? 
How'd yo come heah ? How'd I come, toh ? 

Yo spec I come heah stealin' ? 

No, sah ? Pray hab some feelin' ! 

Dis whole night, shoh's yo libbin', 

I dream ob dat Tanksgibbin' ; 
An' dese heah chickens — somehow it seems 
Ise made mistake, some way, in my dreams. 

Marse Lehman seed it was all so plain, 

He say : "Ise glad, Jake, dat yo kin splain ; 

Under de sarcumstances, 

De arg'ment yo advances, 

98 



Perhaps would hang a jury ; 

But, Jake, if dis don't cure yo, 
An' yo come back in yo dreams, yo'll take 
Sich deep sot cold dat yo'll nebber wake." 



WHEN MY CHORES ARE DONE. 

If there's a happy time upon the farm, 
And if there is n't, then this world has none, 

'Tis when the farmer draws up to the fire 
To rest at home, and all his chores are done. 

To hear the wolfish howls of wintry winds. 
The patter of their footfalls as they run, 

And know all yours are sheltered safe and warm. 
And you're at home, and all your chores are 
done. 

The swine, filled with hot broth, are piled for 
sleep, 
Fowls fed and housed, the ev'nin' meal begun; 
The cattle, sheep and horses, munchin' hay, 
Cows milked, the night-wood in, the chores all 
done. 

Before the fire with nose between his paws, 
The old dog holds the place by service won ; 

And dudish puss is strokin' his moustache, 
And hums a tune, for all the chores are done. 



The supper done, the dishes washed and shelved, 
Then nuts and pop-corn, puzzle and the pun ; 

The lessons got, the lovin' word and kiss ; 
For all is Joy when all the chores are done. 

The boys and girls tell all the neighbor news, 
Or read, or sing, or jine in games of fun ; 

The good wife smiles, the babe crows on her knee. 
Tot rides your foot — for all the chores are done. 

No gamblin' stocks on change to murder sleep ! 

No warrin' creeds ! No life all good men shun! 
No vain ambition, crucifyin' hope ! 

But home, and love, and rest, — and chores all 
done. 

When death's cold night of cloud and gloom shall 
come, 

May I be ready, with the settin' sun, 
To enter in where all my loved ones are. 

As in the old farm home — mv chores all done. 



100 



HOW PATTI SANG "HOME, SWEET 
HOME." 

Well, I set and listened to lier, 

With a heav'n in my heart, 
An' my eyes a moister dimmin'. 

Like the tears was gon' to start ; 
An' my soul a-risin' , thrillin' , 

As my spirit soared away. 
An' the coldest feelin's fillin'. 

An' a chillin' of the clay. 

'Twas the mnsic of my boyhood, 

Of the brooks, an' birds, an' bees. 
With the breath of spring, an' flowers, 

An' the blossoms on the trees ; 
An' the sheep an' lambs a blatin', 

An' the lowin' cattle come, — 
All a minglin' with the voices 

Of the far ofi, dear old home. 

An' it sweeter got, an' tender, 

An' I seemed a child to grow, 
With my mother's arms around me, 

An' her voice a singin' low ; 
An' the years of toil an' temptin' 

Threw no shadder on my bliss, 
As I laid in drowsy dreamland. 

With my mother's lovin' kiss. 

101 



Then the music swelled, all meltin', 

Like the wavin' of the grain, 
An' I walked with her, my sweetheart, 

Down the thorn-hedged, country lane t 
Lovin' voices softly minglin' 

In a secret that we told ; 
Ay, the secret wand'rin' with us 

From the medder-lands of gold ! 

Oh ! them tones was caught from heaven,,. 

In some dream the singer dreamed, 
When her voice was taught the music 

Of the harps that play "Redeemed ! '^ 
An' they linger in my mem'ry, 

Weavin' still a trancin' spell, 
An' afillin' me with feelin's 

That my heart can never tell. 



102 



HOW I PROPOSED TO MARY. 

I was bindin' wheat an' findin' 
Thorns an' thistles in it, still 

Thinkin' on it when a bonnet 
Come a peepin' o' er the hill. 

Deacon's daughter with some water, 
Though 'twas early in the day ; 

When she ^ot it, an' she hrouglit it, 
I could alius drink, some way. 

I was eyein' curls a flyin' 

Round the cheeks so pink an' white, 
With a notion that her motion 

Beat the wavin' wheat a mite. 

Over shoetops in the dewdrops ! 

An' like stars with clouds aroun', 
Hid, then beamin', so, dew gleamin', 

Little feet flashed 'neath her gown ! 

I was biiidin' wheat an' fi.ndin' 
Thistles in the bundle, when 

Deacon's daughter brought the water 
To me last of all the men. 

Says I : " Mary, it is very 
Strange that I should alius be 

Last a drinkin' ! Pve been thinkin' 
Why you choose all men 'fore me ? " 
103 



Quick the blushin' come a rusliin' ; 

But she laughed : "Because I find 
Them that's leadin' are most needin' ; 

You are always here behind ! ' ' 

" See here, Mary, there is nary 
Flower found in this ere sheaf ; 
But a thistle makes me whistle ! 
Wonder, now, if you' d as lief, 

'Fore I bind it, come an' find it, 
An' jest take the trouble out?" 

I felt colder than a boulder ; 
Yet I sweat with fear an' doubt. 

"Yes, I'm willin', " was the thrillin' 
Way she answered, kneelin' down. 
True as Moses, like crushed roses 
Was the perfume of her gown ! 

My heart beatin' an' repeatin', 
What I didn' t dare to speak ! 
"In the band, sir, in your hand, sir, 
Is the thistle that I seek," 

Said she, graspin' an' unclaspin' 
My clinched fingers from the wheat. 

With a nimble touch whose tremble 
Shook me from my head to feet. 

Then a smilin' so beguilin'. 
Rose an' said : " I have it, see ? 

No reminder need the binder 
That my pay most dear will be." 

104 



n 



Says I : "Mary, life is very 
Like this bindin' of the wheat ; 

Few the flowers that are ours, 
Toiling in the summer heat ; 

" Thistle trouble more than double ; 
But I love ye an' I'll be 
Foremost binder, truer, kinder, 
If you'll pick the thorns for me? '■ 

On the band, sir, fell her hand, sir, 
So's I caught her finger tips, 

Drawed her nearer, so's to hear her ; 
But I somehow stopped her lips. 

Deacon's daughter brings the water 
That has sweetened all my life ; 

An' I whistle at the thistle 
Folks call Trouble : she's my Wife I 



105 



WHEN SHE'S A GON' AWAY. 

Somehow yarns around the groc'ry 

Ain't so funny as before, 
An' I'm all the time forge ttin' 

This, or that 'ere leetle chore ; 
When I git out in the kitchen. 

Want to hang around an' stay ; 
Guess I'm foolish cause this ev'nin', 

¥/hy — my wife's a gon' away. 

She's a fixin' things up for me 

With a thoughtful, lovin' care, 
Tellin' me that somethin' s here, 

An' somethin' else is over there ; 
Lookin' sober, speakin' low-voiced, 

Though she hasn't much to say ; 
Ketch her eyes on me all dim like — 

Guess she hates to go away. 

Wish 'twas over — wish 'twas way off- 

Wish we didn' t have to part ; 
That's jest what I keep a thinkin' 

An' a feelin' in my heart. 
P'raps our speerits see much furder 

Than the partin' of today. 
An' jest hint what they can't tell us, 

When a loved one's gon' away. 

106 



Calls to mind another journey, 

By an' by we all must go; 
Wonder who's a gettin' ready 

For the train that moves so slow ? 
Brings the tears to think about it, 

So I git nigh her an' pray, 
It may be my time for startin' , 

Jest when she's a gon' away. 



IS THERE AN HONEST LAWYER? 

Is thar an honest lawyer ? 

Of course ! They're all that way : 
But now an' then bad clients 

Lead some of 'em astray. 
A genooine good lawyer 

Makes clients' cases his : 
If actin' fer ends like 'em, 

He's gone — you bet he is ! 

Thar's Ap, the city lawyer, 

Begun hyar in our sight ; 
The son of that brave soldier 

Who died fer us, an' Right. 
His father borned Right in him. 

The widow trained him so : 
An' as a sprout is grafted. 

It 's mighty ap' to grow. 

107 



Why, out hyar in ttie country, 

His word was gospel true ; 
Enough to hang a jury, 

An' hang a feller, too. 
A poor man's case, he'd take it, 

An' know he'd get no fee. 
An' all the gold in Klondike 

Not make him "Haw," er "Gee." 

He fought the Railroad Comp'ny 

Fer Lawson's ole home place, 
When all the other lawyers 

Said Lawson had no case : 
All courts below agin him ; 

Supreme, his way it went ; 
He saved John from the Poorhouse ; 

His fee was — not a cent. 

He's now down in the city, 

His clients millionaires ; 
None 's tempted so to sell out. 

No priest sich secrets bears. 
A slip of pen, a " Give 'way" 

A client couldn't know. 
Makes Ap a millionaire, sir ; 

It never happens so. 

Estates of widders, orphans. 

He has 'em money fat. 
I've heard of folks not lawyers, 

A stealin' things like that. 

108 



He'd often make a fortune 
By milkin' down a share ; 

An' so lie must be honest — 
He airCt a millionaire ! 

More trusted an' more tempted, 

More blamed than other folks ; 
Yit they 're as true an' honest, 

Who says else, lies, er jokes. 
We tell our troubles to 'em. 

An' stretch what we will swear 
In Court we shrink it, git beat ; 

They have the blame to bear. 

Waal, Moses was a lawyer, 

An' Jefferson that drew 
Our holy Declaration ; 

An' "Honest Abe" was, too. 
An' I kin name ye many 

An honest lawyer. Cap ; 
But if ye want to see one — 

Jes' take a look at Ap ! 



109 



GOIN' TO LAW. 

Wall, it happened this way: About July the third, 
We got up purty early, my hired hand an' me, 
An' right out in the road, nigh the cornfield, we 
heard 
Some loose kind o' stray critters ; my hand 
went to see. 
Soon he brought back two hosses, abandoned, he 
said, 
Fer they both was all mud, an' run down like 
a clock ; 
He declared he would "post 'em," an' see they 
was fed. 
If they never was claimed, why, he'd jest own 
the stock. 

So I rented him paster, an' we turned ' em in. 

Then I thought what a pity I had n't been fust 
To diskiver the team ; what good luck ' twould a 
been ; 
Fer I needed one team more, an' hev one I must. 
An' the more that I studied, the more I'd incline 
To believe that my hand had no right to the 
team, 
An' the surer I felt that it ought to be mine ; 
An' I thought I'd just take it, so plain did it 
seem. 

110 



Sure the time of the man that I hired was all 

mine ! 
What he done was fer me, made no odds what 
it was ! 
When he took up the hosses, 'tis plain as a line 
' T was me takin' ' em up ! Sol pleaded m y cause. 
Then I went up to town, an' I posted as strays 

Them two hosses, an' stuck the notices round ; 
Then I got two ole neighbors to come an' appraise; 
Then I called that team mine, jest to feel how 
'twould sound. 

When my hand found it out, he jest got on his ear, 

An' we had a discussion, rale lively, you bet. 
Waal, he would n't surrender, an' I did n't skeer, 

So we got the hull neighborhood into a sweat. 
An' some took sides with me, others took sides 
with him. 
All a eggin' us on with their cheap, fool advice ; 
But the hosses filled up, an' they looked kind o' 
trim. 
An' I thought if I won, 'twas a team at half 
price. 

So I turned off my hand, an' he went up to town 
An' replevined the team ; took 'em right 'fore 
my eyes ! 
Wall, in less than two hours all the neighbors 
was down. 
An' they frothed at the outrage, an' eat my 
wife's pies. 

113 



My liull fam'ly jined witli 'em. I saddled a Jade 
An' I loped into town, all red-hot at the maw ; 

Found my hired hand's lawyer out on a parade 
With that team ! Whew ! that fixed it, an' I 
went to law ! 

Rushin' up to a lawyer, I told him my case, 
That my neighbors was stormin' because I was 
beat ; 
That I wanted that team 'fore they saw the dis- 
grace 
Of my hand' s lawyer drivin' my team on the 
street. 
So he scratched off some papers, an' I give a 
bond, 
A " deliv'ry " he called it, to take 'em agin. 
An' he then scratched his head, an' thus wisely 
he yawned : 
"I am ready to act when my fee is paid in." 

Waal, he took all my cash, an' a note fer the rest, 
Then we plowed up a sheriff an' looked fer the 
team. 
As we went round the city I met ev'ry pest 
From about my hull neighborhood, an' he 
would scream : 
" Hello, say ! is it fact that clod-thumper 's ahead ? 
They all say that his lawyer 's now able to 
drive! " 
Then I'd feel kinder mean an' I'd look kinder red. 
Till I got all stirred up, like mad bees in a hive. 

114 



Soon we met my hired hand, an' he spoke so 
perlite ; 
Then he smole a smile big as a crack in a 
fence. 
Wa'nt I mad ? Why, I swelled till my clothes 
was skin-tight, 
An' I thought I should bust in my own self- 
defence ! 
But the sheriff yelled, "Halt!" grabbed a team 
goin' by, 
E-ead a paper, an' then a plug hat bowed 
assent ; 
My hand's lawyer got out an' mine went on 
a fly, 
An' I felt jest as big as a hull circus tent ! 

Waal, I strutted around, shakin' hands ev'ry- 
where, 
An' a praisin' the team when my lawyer druv 
past ; 
Then I proudly rid home'ard, an', when I got 
there, 
My best hoss, halter-hung, was jest kickin' his 
last! 
Then I lost ten days time gittin' ready fer trile, 
An' ten acres of wheat that got spiled in the 
tiel'; 
Then got beat^ the fust hitch, had to go fer my 
pile, 
Fer to fee my licked lawyer to take an appeal. 

115 



Waal, tlie next time his lawyer let mine git on 
top; 
Then my hired man he took it up to Supreme 
Court. 
Fer two years they sot on it, then give it a flop. 

An' it lit with my hired man a holdin' the fort. 
So we got; a new trile, an' we locked horns once 
more, 
An' we bellered, an' hooked, an' we barked all 
the trees ; 
An' the neighbors all watchin', an' thirstin' fer 
gore ; 
An' the lawyers both loafin', an' pocketin' fees. 

Yaas, it ended. Eh ?— how ?— Why, I don't like 
to tell. 
'Twas a mighty big suit! biggest ever 'round 
here ! 
I was pluck to the last : That is pluck fer my — 
well, 
Fer my lawyer ; I'm rentin' a farm by the year. 
My attorney owns mine ; earned it, sir, gittin' 
beat ! 
Oh ! my hired man he's workin' fer his'n, some- 
how ! 
We got all the bitter, them law chaps the sweet. 
Whar's the team ? Thar 's his lawyer a drivin' 
it now ! 



116 



LEAVING THE FARM. 

Come, wife, let us take a last look around, 

We leave the old farm, to-day. 
We'll walk in the paths that our feet hev made 

In years that hev passed away. 
We'll go by the fields, and the homestead house, 

We built when we fust begun ; 
Then back through the paster among the stock, 

With good-bye fer ev'ry one. 

It's hard, but the children will hev it so ; 

The city has got them all. 
An' we must live near to 'em now each day, 

While waitin' the Master's call. 
God bless 'em fer love ! They are good an' kind ; 

They take arter you, dear wife ; 
As tender an' true to worn, withered age. 

As unto the bloom of life. 

I'll carry your shawl ! ye don't need it now, 

But will when we're comin' back. 
Look, yonder' s the dogs both a foUern us ! 

Hello there, ole Filo 'n Jack ! 
You've saved us both many a weary step ; 

An' once saved our drownin' boy ! 
Come, bark an' frisk round ! Let our last tramp 
ring 

With some of the old time joy. 

117 



Well, now, there's the pigeons flyin' 'long! 

Coo, coo ! an' ye know us too — 
Yes, yes ; but don't know as ye cling to us, 

That we are desertin' you ! 
Look, wife, how your posies are bloomin' out ! 

But somehow the wind 's a sigh : 
The flowers drop dew like the silent tears 

That fall with the last good-bye. 

Don't, wife, fer my heart is too full f er tears ! — 

That wheat, ain't it lookin' fine? 
Be twenty-five bushels an acre, sure ! 

I'll — no, this crop won't be mine, 
I know them clean fields like dear faces loved, 

Their bosoms are warm an' true ; 
They never miss crops ! They are silver mines 

More safe than them in Peru. 

An' here's the old lane ! — how my thoughts run 
back 

To ev'nin's of long ago ! 
You trippin' down here with your milkin' pail 

A singin' so sweet an' low, 
It thrilled me all through as I left the field, 

An' cheered up my heart so well. 
My sweat-stained an' tired limbs was filled 

With rest that my tongue can't tell. 

Look, there is the tree where our Bennie fell ! 

I see it all Jest as plain ! 
The blood-matted curls, the face white an' still — 

Death's fust blow is felt again ! 

118 



His name is still seen that he climbed to cut ; 

Time's fingers hev rubbed it o'er, 
The letters are gone ; but the wound is there, 

As here in our hearts, still sore. 

Come, wife, let' s not wait to be close him here ; 

He's Yonder — a little way ! 
We're nearer him now wherever we be. 

Then when he lay here that day. 
It's strange that the limb that he fell from died ! 

I still in the bark can trace 
The lines that the neighbors all 'round declare 

Jest picture his curls an' face. 

How green the old medder appears to-day ! 

It looks like the lap of spring, 
The flowers like children a smilin' sweet. 

An' happy the waters sing ! 
Reminds me of you in our life's spring time, 

A lookin' so fresh an' fair, 
The children a laffin' ui)on your knees, 

As bright as them posies there. 

We leave them — Grood-bye, dear old fields, good- 
bye ! 

You've paid me fer toil an' pains, 
The cleanin' of stumps an' the stones away, 

The seedin' an' makin' drains. 
The sun never warmed any better ones ; 

I never shall find as good. 
Until I shall see the green fields that wait 

Afar beyond Jordan's flood. 

119 



So here's the old house where we fust begun ! 

Time-racked, like we are, good wife ; 
It leans with its years, an' it shows all 'round, 

The storm an' the tempest strife. 
But there is the winder where beamed your face^ 

When waitin' fer me to come ; 
An' there is the doorway in which you stood 

To hug me a welcome home ! 

Come in! Here's the hearth where the oven 
glowed, 

An' where the tea-kittle swung ; 
Right there's where the little pine table stood 

You flitted around, an' sung. 
As on it you spread the white linen cloth, 

An' set the blue dishes down. 
An' took from the hearth the most fragrant tea, 

An' bread jest a temptin' brown. 

An' you reigned the queen of the banquet, too, 

An' I was the king until 
My throne was o'ertopped by a high-chair prince, 

Who ruled at his own sweet will. 
An' here's where the little red stockin's hung, 

We filled ev'ry Christmas Eve ; 
The hearthstone is cold, an' the children gone — 

An' now, wife, we, too, must leave ! 

Good-bye, dear old hearth with the cricket song I 

Old rain-music roof — good-bye ! 
Your melodies live in the mem'ries loved, 

An' shall live, until we die ! 

120 



oil ! wife, if the house never made with hands, 
Which stands on the Other Shore, 

Will give us such joys as we fust knew here, 
My heart will not ask fer more ! 

See ! yonder' s the stock all about the creek ! 

Come on. Look, they see us now ! 
Jest notice that colt, hair as fine as silk ! 

An' there is your Jersey cow ! 
Them fillies show blood. See that yearlin' go ! 

A two-twenty hoss I'll bound. 
Ha, ha ! the old team has fergot their years, 

They're tryin' to caper 'round ! 

A better team never stretched out a trace ! 

No load that they couldn't draw ; 
An' I could jest tie the lines 'round the brake, 

An' drive 'em by " Gee " an' " Haw ! " 
Good-bye, good old Gyp, an' good-bye old Jim ! 

We've worked till we're all worked down. 
I know if a hoss heaven's ever made. 

You'll both wear a starry crown. 

They're ev'ry one foll'rin' us yit, dear wife ; 

'Tis so that they cling to friends : 
I'd rather be with 'em than go to town — 

Their love is more true than men's. 
I'm glad they don't know what that good-bye 
meant ; 

Well, well — my own heart don't know ! 
It's only a pain, an' a hopin' to meet 

Above, if not here below. 

121 



Humph ! here's the old water -gap, pesky thing ! 

Gfoes off down the creek each rise. 
Like folks that I know, give 'em half a chance, 

They'll break from the strongest ties. 
The foot-log is there that you used to cross, 

A blackberry' n' on the hill. 
The sun's goin' down, an' the waterfall's dirge, 

Is piped by the whippoorvvill ! 

The creek looks so cunnin' a playin' 'rotind 

In kind o' coquettish ways. 
How good them old elms, stretchin' out their arms 

Did seem on hot summer days ! 
An' yonder 's the sheep windin' 'round the knoll. 

The lambs all a playin', see ! 
The innersent things ! Makes me think of Him, 

The Lamb that was slain fer me ! 

Hyar, hyaT ! — now them dogs scart a rabbit up ! 

They want to show off to-day ! 
Come back ! Well, go on, your old legs so stiff 

You'll not ketch it anyway. 
Ha, ha! — they've both stopped — look, they're 
turnin' 'round, 

Their heads hangin' down with shame ! 
Don't mind it, old dogs, in the race of life 

We're all left behind the same ! 

Go, Filo, an' take them sheep 'cross the creek ! 

How big he feels now, see his tail ! 
We're proud of the little old age can do 

As children ; as shamed to fail. 

132 



My, how that woods paster is comin' out ! 

Them hogs, ain't they lookin' fine ? 
'Twas money, the root of all evil, went 

As devils in Scripture swine. 

The bees are out huntin' the buds an' bloom, 

The birds singin' blithe an' gay, 
The squirrels a chatterin' an' jumpin' trees, 

All happy — but us, to-day ! 
Cfood-bye, cheery friends, when you come again. 

You'll miss this old snowy head ! 
But never your music will be fergot, 

Till mem'ry an' me are dead. 

How sweet the old orchard does smell to-day ! 

I planted an' nursed each tree. 
They seem like dear children my care has raised 

Now pay in' it back to me. 
Good-bye ! O I pray that when Over There, 

The all of my life He sees, 
'Twill only be fragrant, as fruitful, fair, 

As that of these good old trees. 

How cool your spring-milkhouse keeps ev'rything! 

Oh, yes, dear, I know you do. 
As clean as your cupboard ; them pans as bright 

As Bissell's wife's diamonds, too. 
The spring runs as clear as in early days ; 

Let's take one more drink, good wife ; 
We'll find none that's purer till we drink from 

The fount of eternal life. 

123 



Your cliickens an' turkeys all swarm tlie yard ! 

No more you will feed tliem there — 
Jest see them spring roosters a fightin' now, 

Like children a pullin' hair ! 
Them ducks ain' t no singers ! as fighters, though, 

I reckon they're rale ring doves ; 
Called Science, not Sin ; fer, like other quacks. 

They've got on their boxin' gloves ! 

That peacock struts round fer to show his tail ! 

Reminds me of folks I know ; 
So proud of their ancestors, things behind, 

Got nuthin' ahead to show. 
There's nineteen chickens with that old hen; 

Look, hov'rin' the peepin' things ! — 
So may we be gathered when night comes on. 

All under His shelf rin' wings ! 

The carriage has come ; we must leave the farm — 

Oh, wife, how my full heart swells ! 
It seems like I stood by the loved an' lost, 

A hearin' their fun'ral knells ! 
How mem'ry flies — the happy days ! 

O joys that will come no more ! 
Next goin' to Heaven I would go back 

To live our old farm life o^er ! 

Good-bye, long-loved home of my heart — good- 
bye ! 

There, wife, lean upon my arm : 
We're breakin' the ties that the years hev formed, 

We're leavin' the dear old farm ! — 

124 



Let's look up to Him who has given us 
The home that we leave to-day, 

An' ask Him to give us a mansion where 
They live, an' they love, alway. 



AS TOLD BY A GHOST FROM THE MAINE. 

With the faith of brave men in the honor of men. 
So we gave our good ship to the pilot of Spain; 

On our helm was the hand of the nation that then 
Gave the guide and the order and anchored the 
Maine. 

As a host leads a guest to a place in the home, 
We were led to the buoy on Havana's dark 
wave. 
Yea, were lured to the death trap hid under the 
foam, 
Till the couch of the guest was the mouth of a 
grave. 

There we lay with the watch of the true Man-of- 
War, 
And the sentinel Nation patrolling the sea ; 
For the Spaniards who anchored us held the 
night tor, 
And the hand Spain commanded now held the 
mine key. 

125 



With the trust of brave men in the honor of men, 

So in dreams, or on duty, were orders obeyed ; 

With our flag for our shield, we were ambushed 

again 

In the gloom that the night and the dark waters 

made. 

Our ship swung 'gainst the mine, signal warning 
the shore, 
Then a key that Spain held turned the lock 
under guard ; 
And a key held by Spain oped the battery door, 
And the Ken of a Spaniard her secret unbarred. 

Then a touch and a spark and our ship rose in 
air ! 
Bursting fire, thunder roar, and the groans of 
the slain. 
And two hundred and three score and six mur- 
dered there — 
'Twas the crime of the age — Spaniards wrecking 

the MaiuQ ! 



126 



THE WIND GHOULS. 

Hear tliem now rioting out in the street ! 
Over the snow with no prints of their feet ! 
Up in the trees on invisible wings, 
Breaking the branches in wild revelings ! 
Eiding them madly like imps of the air : 
Howling it, moaning it everywhere — 

"Blow, blow ! woe, woe ! 
Bacchanal breath of the ice and the snow ! 
Revel and riot wherever we go ! " 

Up on the roof hear the reveling ghouls, 
Dancing the measures a lunatic drools 
Out of the chimney with orchestral shrieks : 
Down they all rush and the old roof creaks ! 
Raving they run 'round the house with a roar, 
Whisper through crevice, or keyhole of door — 

"Blow, blow ! woe, woe ! 
Bacchanal breath of the ice and the snow ! 
Revel and riot wherever we go ! " 

Rattling the windows in maniac glee. 
Slamming the doors and the blinds in their spree, 
Marching the balcony moaning a dirge, 
House and hearts shiver ! Away they all surge! 
Over the city, by hut and by hall, 
Shaking and waking the sleepers to call — 

"Blow, blow! woe, woe! 
Bacchanal breath of the ice and the snow, 
Revel and riot wherever we go ! " 

127 



THE NAME THAT HEADS THE TICKET. 

Christ's name is the head of the ticket, 

A cross is already there ; 
If you are a genuine Christian 

Your conscience will mark with care 
The names with the cross and with His name ; 

For no one the Lord deceives, 
Who crucifies Him, as on Calv'ry, 

Along with defaming thieves. 

Christ' s name is the head of the ticket, 

A cross is already there ; 
And Christian, or never a Christian, 

Defy the Lord if you dare ! 
His Cross is for truth, and not error ; 

Your crosses with His belong ; 
Each vote is recorded where never 

The Judge of Election 's wrong. 

Christ's name is the head of the ticket, 

A cross is already there ; 
Not party, position, nor friendship, 

Fear, gain, nor the loss we bear, 
Shall fill out the freeman's ballot. 

Let Conscience, with Manhood's might. 
Vote ever for home, and for country, 

For God, and for Truth, and Right. 

128 



Christ's name is the head of the ticket, 

Let him who does aught beware ! 
Cross, Ballot and Country are holy, 

All we have, all we hope for, there. 
Who buys, or who sells a man's ballot, 

Should be of all men abhorred. 
Like Arnold, the traitor to country, 

And Judas, who sold his Lord. 



UNCLE SAM. 

[Written April 19, 1S98. Congress debating War Resolutions while peo- 
ple declared war, as shown when this was read in Metropolitan Temple, 
New York City, night of April 19th.] 

Have you heard the good news 'bout our Uncle ? 

The whole fam'ly is feeling so proud ! 
When you hear what he's done, as you love him, 

From your hearts you will cheer long and loud. 
He stood up like a Herald of Heaven, 

And he faced the whole Avorld land and sea. 
Sword aloft, waving Star Spangled Banner, 

Uncle Sam declared, " Cuba is Free ! " 
Are you proud of him ? 
Hurrah ! I am ! 
For the Right, against Wrong he has risen — 

So God bless him, good old Uncle Sam ! 

When he heard how they starved in Armenia, 
Uncle Sam sent his money and grain ; 

When he heard of the famine in Cuba, 
Uncle helped — till they blew up the Maine! 

Then old Uncle's blood boiled, but he waited ; 
Calm, yet awful in anger is he ; 

129 



Uncle charged Spain with murder and proved it, 
Then told Spain, '' Now go ! Cuba is Feee!'^ 
Aren't you proud of him ? 
God knows I am ! 
Against Slavery, for Freedom he's standing — 
Earth and Heaven honor Old Uncle Sam ! 

"By the Wrongs that await to be righted, 

And the Rights that are strangled by Wrong • 
By the slaughter of women and children, 

Nameless horrors committed so long ; 
By the heroic struggle of Cuba, 

And the tyranny, murders of Spain, 
Cuba's free ! I'll fight for it ! " said Uncle, 

"And the war-cry — 'Remember the Maine !' '^ 
Oh you're proud of him ! — 
Glory ! I am ! 
We will stand by him, fight for him, die for him I 

Hurrah for our brave Uncle Sam ! 

So we fling out our flag, our Old Glory, 

One that never has known a defeat. 
From the East and the West, North and Southland 

Come the armies that never retreat ; 
Yankee Seamen tug now at their anchors, 

Their prayer is avenging the Maine. 
The whole fam'ly is with our Old Uncle — 

Hail ! Free Cuba ! and Good-bye to Spain ! 
Lips of steel end 
Diplomacy's sham. 
Words are shot and shell now ! Rally 'round him^ 

Our glorious Old Uncle Sam ! 



130 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY. 

[Written May 3d, and read at the celebration of Dewey's victory. 
Metropolitan Temple, New York City, May 7th.] 

Our Eagles swoop, on wings of war, 

Caballo and Corregidor, 
By guns, o'er hell trap mines, and wait 

A day of Trafalgar. 
Then, with the primal dawn of May, 

Aligned in battle's full array, 
They fill the hearts oppressed with hope, 

The Spaniards with dismay : 
The God-sent ironclads advance 

To sweep Manila bay. 

The Yankee meets the Spanish Don, 
The battle of the age is on. 
And all the spirit universe 
Is to the hour drawn. 
This day decides the ships of steel, 
This day a blow the world will feel. 
Here man and mind are masterful 

For future woe or weal : 
The Angel of the Prophecy 
Now breaks a mystic seal ! 

Knight errants of a new crusade. 
Our armored battle-ships are made ; 
To carve the sepulcher of wrong, 

Crusaders now invade ; » 

They're saviors of the world's oppressed^ 

For whom the world has pray'd. 

131 



And pagan error is the foe •, 

Spain's fleet, the Spain of blood and woe ; 

Manila's batt'ry, Cavite's 

How will the battle go ? 

Spain with her ships in line, 
Spain with her fort and mine, 

Walling the way ; 
Yankee fleet, Stripes and Stars, 
Dewey, and Yankee tars, 

Braving the bay ! 

Spaniards with bloody boast, 
Navy, and army host, 

Guard sea and shore ; 
Yankees with hearts and thews. 
Only their shijDS and crews, 

Asking no more. 

Death on the cannoned waves. 
Death in the batt'ry graves, 

Death in the air ; 
Ambushing Europan, 
Charging American, 

So they meet there. 

Armor-clad battle-ships 
Thunder from metal lips. 

Challenge of Spain ; 
Koaring along the sky, 
Iron throats make reply — 
" Remember the Maine ! ' ' 

132 



Broadside, and turret ball, 
Shrieking bombs bursting fall, 

Heavens hail lead ; 
Wrecks of the rending shell, 
Dying groans, flames of hell ; 

Wounded, and dead. 

Raked by Manila's fire, 
Cavite's cannon gyre, 

Shot, shore and sea ; 
On through the blood and smoke, 
Yankees with hearts of oak, 
Liberty's conq'ring stroke, 
Breaking the tyrant's yoke, - 

Making men free ! 

Lo ! a shell bursting now 
Fires the CTirisiina) s bow ! 

Flag-ship aflame ! 
What does her fate portend ? 
Monarchy soon to end ? 

'Tis the Queen's name ! 

Cuba is signaled to, 

Saves the Christina' s crew, 

And Montejo ; 
Ha ! Cuba's deck ablaze ! 
Forecast of coming days — 

From Cuba go ! 

Wrecked their ships one and ten, 
Blown up their fleet and men, 
Yankee shot and shell ; 

133 



Retribution, Spain, 
Your fleet for our Maine ! 
We've remembered well. 

Blood from their vessels drips, 
Curses, pray'rs on their lips. 
They with their burning ships 

Sink and go down ! 
Sink till there are no more, 
Silenced their guns ashore, 
Stars and Stripes waving o'er. 

Victory's crown ! 
Not a ship have we lost. 
Not a life has it cost — 

This day's renown ! 

Loud ring the Yankee cheers, 

Hating Manila hears. 

Yea, the world's hemispheres 
Thrill and rejoice ! 

High in the tow'r of time. 

Freedom's bells grandly chime- 
Liberty's voice ! 

Thus free American, 
Met the king' d Europan, 

Won world applause ! 
Oh, it was glorious. 
Mankind victorious, 

God and His cause ! 

134 



They lost all, we lost none, 
Who could so aim each gun \ 
God, our God, it was ! 

Lord, bless the gallant Yankee tar ; 
Lord, bless the Hector of the war, 
Who ran the forts, Caballo proud, 

And strong Corregidor, 
And gained the glory of the day, 

The greater Trafalgar ! 
For greater ships, and guns, and cause, 

Make greater conqueror ! 

While time shall honor John Paul Jones, 
Decatur, Perry, and re-crowns 

Brave Farragut, and Nelson, all 
The world's fame-haloed sons ; 

We'll tell the battle faraway. 

How Dewey stormed Manila bay ! 
Tell how the free American 
There fought the famed Iberian, 

And crushed him — won the day. 

This day dates birth of higher laws. 
And makes oppression Mankind's cause ! 

The day of thunder tones, 
For Liberty, Humanity, 

The day that shook all thrones ! 
The day of Christianity 

The Savior taught, and owns. 



135 



HOBSON AND HEROES. 

Blockading Santiago 

In Eighteen Ninety-Eight, 
Cervera in the harbor, 

Schley — Sampson at the gate ; 
Entrapped the Spanish Squadron, 

And bottle-shape the bay : 
We corked it, blew our name in. 

And here's the Yankee way. 

Death braved would run our collier. 

The steel-ribbed Merrimac, 
Sink her athwart the channel — 

Spain's fleet would "ne'er get back.' 
Their pass, by forts and batt'ries, 

Was locked in cannon grips ; 
The harbor mined, torpedoed, 

Held Spain' s best battleships. 

Our Admiral Sampson signalled. 

Four thousand seamen read : 
" Seven volunteers. Death mission I 

Who'll go?" the message said. 
War' s prize, sure death, or glory ! 

Who'd die that time might tell 
The seven who manned the collier^ 

Sank her in fires of hell ! 

136 



The answer crowned our Navy, 

From ship to ship was cheered, 
Their Country called for seven, 

Four thousand volunteered ! 
Like call has found one hero, 

To hold the bridge, Rome's three ; 
But what whole host Horatii ? 

Americans ! The Free ! 

Our Admiral chose seven, 

By stealth one more got place ; 
Night-masked they clove the billows, 

To death, — save by God's grace. 
Their music ocean chanted, 

Their flag, the starry sky. 
High heaven's glorious banner 

For all that go to die. 

Mars shielded them with shadows^ 

They ran in through the mines, 
Plunged on, as Morro Castle 

Boomed out the battle signs. 
Forts, batt'ries, ships in harbor, 

All thundered the attack ! 
The flying spray and splinters 

Death-veiled the Merrimac ! 

On drove the target martyrs, 

Without a fear, or fidge, 
At ev'ry post a hero, 

Brave Hobson on the bridge. 

137 



Shell fragment felled the pilot, 
A Jackie grasped the wheel ! 

The engineers below there 

Noise deaf with crashing steel ! 

As calm as making mess call 

Came Hobson's signal pull. 
The pilot swung her steady 

To fill the channel full. 
Fuse set to blow up, sink her, 

The seven swam sea and shell ; 
The wreck went roaring, rushing, 

To block the mouth of hell ! 

The deed struck dumb Spain's cannon, 

In honor, not in fear ! 
Moved e'en the foe to rescue. 

Loud rang the Spanish cheer ! 
With flag of truce Cervera 

Made safe report each man. 
For doing deed as brave as done 

Since world and war began. 



138 



SAMPSON AND SCHLEY. 

^' Ho, warden ! Ho there, Spirit Warden ! 

Throw open the Temple of Fame ! 
Now summon the heroes of ages ! 

Two worthies admission here claim. 
I bear you the blood- writ credentials, 

Ensealed by the land whence they came. 

A herald assembled the crowned ones, 

Of all of the heroes of time ; 
Proclaimed to the Temple Immortals, 

This message of action sublime ! 

^' O hallowed and fame-haloed heroes. 
The Land of the Brave and the Free, 
Waged war for the Weak, 'gainst Oppression; 
The foe was king'd Spain, o'er the sea. 

*' Enslaving the queen of the Antilles, 

With battleships, batt'ries and mines, 
Spain locked all the doors of the harbors, 
Defiant in hellish designs. 

^' Cervera in strong Santiago, 
Cervera, the Fox of the main, 
Defended by forts walled with cannon. 
And pride of the Navy of Spain. 

^' But Freemen rode down on the billows, 
Their battleships armored with Right, 
Blockaded the fox in his burrow, 
Awaited surrender, or fight. 

139 



*' Spain came, masked with mist of the morning^ 
Torpedo boats, warships afoam ; 
A prophet was there who had promised : 
' I've got them ; they'll never get home ! ' 

" Then cyclone of fire and destruction. 
The roar of the demons of death ; 
The vengeance of long- outraged heaven 
Swept Spaniards away with its breath ! 

" Down, down went the Red and the Yellow ! 
Up, up rose the Stripes and the Stars ! 
Columbia triumphant, Spain conquered 

By Schley, Sampson, our brave Yankee 
Tars ! 
The heroes that captured Cervera, 
Send greetings, O ye Sons of Mars ! " 

Then rose up fame-laureled Lord Nelson : — 
" My compeers in glory," quoth he, 
" These brave ones, by blood my own cousins, 
Full brothers in honor must be." 

The starry crown Farragut thundered : — 
" My brothers are glory's great twins ! 
We welcome, we give double honor. 
Where two share the vie' try each wins ! " 

Our Washington, Jackson and Lincoln, 
Grant, Perry, Decatur, Paul Jones, 

Up high in Fame's Temple by Dewey, 
Crowned Sampson and Schley on twin thrones. 

140 



DE ARMY AN' NAVY HOORAY SONG. 

[Tune : " Hot Time in de Old Town," etc.] 

Marcli along an' mind de music, 

Lef an' right an' lef an' right, 
Tramp, tramp, keep step for we's de boys 

De old Dons to fight. 
01 de world ob nations knows it, 

Spaniards ol knows it, too ; 
Foun' it out from Yankee Dewey, 

An' Yankee Doodledo. 
When dey heahs dat de wah it done begin. 
Some folks say dat de Spaniards gwine to win, 

But wen we do Spain so soon. 
We uns shout wid ol our might, 
Oh, we's de boss boys gin' de old Dons to fight, 
Halleluyah. 

Chorus : 
We's boss boys de ole Spanish Dons to fight, 
We's boss boys de ole Spanish Dons to fight. 

Oh, glory ! 
We's boss boys de old Spanish Dons to fight, 
We thrashed 'em, smashed 'em, an' we sunk 
'em out ob sight! 

From Manila to Matanzas, 

From Montojo to de mule, 
Oh we thrashed 'em an' we smashed 'em, 

Sunk 'em down in Davy's pool ! 

141 



Santiago was so berry hot 

We sent dey ships below, 
We was Schley, an' strong as Sampson, 

It was Hobson's choice, you know. 
Wen shells scream an' de bullets 'gin to sing, 
Some folks say Volunteers won' t do a ting, 

But wen de Army scrap, 
Like de Navy, out ob sight, 
Den we's deboss boys 'gin de ole Dons to fight, 
Halleluyah ! 

Beat de drums an' bang de cymbals, 

Blow de bugles, anchor Jack, 
Foh dahs gwine to be a meetin' 

Whah de rations ain't hard tack. 
Whah yo ol knows ebrybody, 

An' dey ol knowses you, 
An' de gals am ol a waitin' 

Foh to hug us howdydo. 
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah, foh de Army, Navy cheer ! 
Boss on de Ian' an' de ocean Oberseer ! 
"Ole Glory," hold her high. 
An' sing wid ol yo might. 
Oh, we's de boss boys gin' de ole Dons to fight, 
Halleluyah ! 



142 



THE MAINE GOES SAILING ON. 

[Tune : "John Bi'own," etc.] 

The Maine wreck's rusting in Havana far away, 
The iron tomb of heroes Spaniards buried in the 

bay, 
A phantom ship is sailing, and it signals ev'ry 

day, 

The Maine goes sailing on ! 

Choeus : 

Glory, glory, wave Old Glory, 
Glory, glory, tell the story ! 
Glory, glory, tell the story ! 
The Maine goes sailing on. 

That phantom ship led Dewey by Manila's fort 

and mine, 
Then Spanish balls were wasted on the ghost in 

battle line. 
While Dewey sunk the Spaniards and their 

battleships in brine. 

The Maine goes sailing on ! 

That phantom ship is leading and our Navy 

ploughs the sea ; 
The Army saw her signal and it rolls the reveille; 
We'll drive Spain o'er the ocean and we'll make 

slave Cuba free. 

The Maine goes sailing on ! 

143 



YANKEE DEWEY. 

Yankee Dewey took a trip 
Down tew Spain's Manilly ; 

Blew lip fort an' battleship, 
Knocked the Spaniards silly. 

Choeus : 
Yankee Dewey, blow ' em up, 

With your guns be handy ! 
Grive the Spaniards Yankee Krupp, 

Yankee Dewey dandy. 

Whooping down to Davy Jones, 

Did the Spaniards vanish ; 
Davy's groans and business tones 

Now are all in Spanish. 

Yankeed 'leven ships of war, 
Thousand Spanish grandees ; 

Never lost a spar er Tar, 
Ain't the Yankees dandies? 

Killed Matanza mules that day, 

(Don is short fer donkey) ; 
We will make the Spaniards bray, 

When with Yanks they monkey. 

Dewey showed us how tew dew, 

Sight an' pull the lanyard ; 
Dew-way is the right way tew 

Dew-way with the Spaniard. 

144 



JOHN AN' JONATHAN. 

[England was with us in the war. The speech of Hon. Joseph Cham- 
berlain, of the Queen's Cabinet, halted the Powers. He honored these lines 
with a letter of confirmation.] 

Thar never wuz on ocean, 

Thar never wuz on Ian' , 
A nuther two sich fellers 

Ez John an' Jonathan ; 
Right now thar ain't none like 'em, 

Won' t be while this world holds ; 
Fer, Jonathan an' John made 

Ole Natur broke the moulds. 

Long Jonathan is withy, 

An' fisty is Ole John ; 
When one of 'em is rasslin', 

Then tuther's lookin' on ; 
Ye' 11 see the Eagle clawin', 

Ef Ole John gits a foul ; 
Ef Jonathan ain't used right, 

Ye hear the Lion growl. 

When Jonathan was bubby, 

With his fust trousers on. 
He seemed a leetle prev'ous, 

Tew bossy, fisty John ; 
They had a leetle tussle 

'Bout how the britches fit, 
An' Johnny got a flummix 

He ain' t got over yit. 

145 



The Yankee bub wore trousers 

In spite of bossy John ; 
When he wuz six an' thirty 

He put a dress suit on ; 
The Britisher thought Yankee 

Wuz cuttin' of him out ; 
One word fetched on a nuther, 

Until they had a fou't. 

The Yank is wearin' full dress, 

By which you understan' 
How that last scuffle ended 

Twixt John an' Jonathan. 
Sence then they've gone on growin', 

An' fisty John is best 
All east of the ole ocean, 

An' Jonathan all west. 

An' bein' blood relation, 

The two kin disagree ; 
But when one gits in trouble, 

The uther's thar tew see 
A fair an' honest set- tew ; 

Ef more than one jumps on. 
Ye see the coat a peelin' 

From Jonathan, er John. 

Now take 'em both tewgether, 
The Stars an' Stripes unfurled, 

The Union Jack a wavin' , 
They ain't afeard the world ! 

146 



An' John will boss the sunrise, 

An' Jonathan the set ; 
So, while they stan' tewgether, 

THE Powers (big the) hev met. 



OUR HALLOWED HEROES. 

The dead that died for victory, 
The martyrs that must ever be 
Where Truth has triumphed in the fight 
That makes the slave world free ! 

For them the glory of all fame. 
Their country's tears, immortal name, — 
They've gone, as God's Elijah went, — 
In chariot of flame ! 

Oh, they have only died to live ! 
They honor us, we cannot give ! 
The heroes of the blood-bought crowns 
Have that prerogative. 

Our tears must tell what martyrs are ; 
They World-waved, — gave our Flag a Star, 
Blood washed the robes of Peace, and died 
That men no more learn war. 



147 



THE YANKEE GIRL IN WAR. 

She wears the soldier buttons 

Of all her sweethearts true, 
A button heads her hatpin, 

Her bracelets of them, too ; 
They gleam around her girdle, 

They nestle in her curl, 
Compose the necklace, earrings, 

Of our fair Yankee girl. 

Our flag waves from her window, 

It flutters on her wheel. 
Adorns her horse and carriage, 

Her poodle and her seal ; 
Old Glory on her bosom 

In love -knot fold and furl ; 
Her lover is a soldier 

And she's his Yankee girl. 

O loyal red her lips are, 

And white her brow and soul, 
Her cheeks are snow and crimson. 

Our color aureole ; 
The stars are blue eyes beaming, 

The Nation's pride and pearl. 
The soldier's other " Glory," 

God bless the Yankee girl ! 

148 



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BOYS AND BUMBLEBEES. 

In the medder, in the grass, 
Close to where ns boys 'ud pass 
On our way to school, we found 
Bumblebees' nest in the ground. 
Laze Yadd, me, an' Joel Stump, 
Shellbark Stoots, an' Hicky Bump, 
Pap-of-th' -world, an' Bulger Bill, 
Clowney Emmett, Charles-th-pill, 
Rooster Jeems, an' them twin Loys, 
Blinky Potts, an' other boys. 
Run a stick down in the nest, 
Then we up an' run our best ! 

Bumblebees just tilled the air ! 
Bumblebees flew ev'ry where ! 
Us boys all a layin' still, 
An' a laffin' fit to kill. 
When they settled down, we 'lowed 
We'd charge on 'em in a crowd, 
Whip an' slap our hats about. 
Kill 'em all as they come out. 

Down we swooped upon the nest, 
Me an' Laze Yadd 'hind the rest; 
For though minus stripes an' spurs, 
Me an' Laze was officers ! 

151 



Shellbark Stoots stuck: in a stick, 
Bumblebee popped out as quick ! 
Joel Stump just mashed Mm fiat, 
Next 'un fell by Hicky's hat ; 
Us boys shoutin' with the fun, 
Killin' of 'em one by one. 
Then it somehow, someway seems 
That ere awkward Rooster Jeems, 
Bein' crosseyed, missed a bee ! 
Zip ! it lit red hot on me ! 

Fust we kno' d was twin Loy screams, 
An' the yells of Rooster Jeems, 
An' the shrieks of Joel Stump, 
An' the whoops of Hicky Bump ! 
Laze Yadd hoppin' in the air, 
Clawin' bees out of his hair ! 
Shellbark Stoots struck for the crick, 
Bees a swarmin' on him thick ! 
Blinky Potts' feet flingin' dirt, 
Had one in his ragged shirt ! 
Pap- th- world would alius fight. 
Went to slappin' left an' right ; 
Faster he fought bees did, too, 
Clawin', dancin', then, "Boo hoc!" 

Bulger, awful to behold. 
Rolled an' yelled an' yelled an' rolled ! 
Clowney Emmett's circus ring — 
Ought to seen the bumbles sting ! 
Faces, sommersets, was he, 

152 



Roared like a menazlieree ! 

Charles-th-pill was killin' bees, 

Like a doctor folks lie sees, 

Till some way the bees got in, 

Dose of his own medicine — 

He rolled grass an' shrieked an' spun, 

Run an' bawled an' bawled an' run ! 

Mearunnin', jumpin' high, 

Ev'ry jump a panther cry ! 

Ev'ry time I lit I'd beg — 

Bee was in my trouser leg ! 

Never had a little thing, 

Boost me like that critter' s sting ! 

Ev'ry time I made a grab, 

I would get another stab 

That 'ud make me cut an' prance, 

So as you could hear my pants 

Buzzin', like a circle saw ! 

Me a yellin' Murder ! — Ma ! 

Till Ma come an' , spankin' me. 

Ma, Ma killed the bumblebee. 

Ought to seen us nex' day — my ! 
We all thought we's gonter die ! 
Goose-eggs lumps was in our hair, 
In our clothes, an' ev'ry where. 
Laze Yadd had the big-head so 
You'd a thought he owned a show ; 
Head was puffed so big an' fat. 
Had to wear his daddy's hat. 

153 



Joel Stump stiff in each cord, 
Head up like a foreign lord ; 
Lips stuck out in scornful curls, 
Haughty as a Yassar girl's. 
Pap-th-world was black an' blued 
Ev'ry zone an' lattertude. 
Bulger' s skin was stretched drum tight, 
Slep' a standin' up all night ! 
Emmett's swellin' all took place 
When he made a funny face ; 
All the funny swelled an' staid, 
Funniest thing that's ever made ! 
Folks 'ud laff an' couldn't quit, 
So their laffin' at him yit. 

Closed the mouth of Charles-th-pill, 
Had to feed him through a quill ! 
Hicky's eyes was both shut up. 
Looked just like a day ole pup ! 
Poultices of mother-wort 
Where the holes was in his shirt. 
One them twins stung in the face, 
Tother in another place, 
So that, 'ceptin' in their bawl, 
Them Loys wasn' t twins at all ! 
Rooster's bulb nose had the bloat, 
Plenty big enough to vote ; 
One his peepers bunged so tight 
That his cross-eyes looked all right. 



154 



Blinky's moutli so big an' wide, 
Course tlie bumbles got inside 
Wlien he's yellin', an' tliey stung 
Blinky's elafontus tongue ; 
Swelled it till it stopped his breath, 
An' he like to choked to death. 

That bee in my trouser legs, 
Stung an' swelled my runnin' pegs ; 
Skin so tight my knees was gone, 
Couldn't git my trousers on ! 
Then our paps with raw cow skin 
Larruped all the stingers in ! 
An' us boys now all agrees, 
Our paps' stingin' beat the bees. 



165 



BICYCLE SONG. 

[Tune : " The Low Back Car."] 

When first I met sweet Katy, 

'Twas on the broad highway, 
She "scorched" as she rode on her high-gear' d 
wheel 
In her cycle costume gay. 
There's not a bird in the summer air, 

The flashing wings reveal, 
That will compare with the girl so fair. 
As she rides on her high-gear' d wheel; 
As she rides on her high-gear' d wheel, 
She breaks even hearts of steel. 
She smiles — rings her bell, 
The toll-gate man— Well, 
He " dead-heads" that high-gear' d wheel ! 

She passed me on the mountain, 

A whirr of wheel and gown. 
An angel was seen descending, 

As she went coasting down ! 
All manly hearts were wounded, 

With darts they long to feel ; 
For the arrows fly as she goes by, 

The queen of the high-gear' d wheel. 

The queen of the high-gear' d wheel. 

Giving wounds that may never heal ; 
But lovers will die for a glance of her eye. 

As she rides on her high-gear' d wheel. 

156 



I'd rather have a wheel, sir, 

And with my Katy ride, 
Than coach and four and golden galore, 

And an heiress for my bride. 
For the heiress would ride without me. 

With maid and coachman, too, 
But Katy would ride beside me 

And lend me her gum to chew ! 

So we'd ride on the high-gear' d wheel, 

We'd stop in the shade a great deal ; 
Good bicycle tires a lover requires. 

When riding a high-gear' d wheel. 

When married and riding tandem, 

With Katy's puggy pup, 
I'll blow up her tire, and maybe her ire, 

And tire of her blowing up. 
But we'll ride out the Century, 

Let fortune smile, or frown, 
I'll do the work going up the hill, 

And Katy in coasting down; 
So we'll ride on our high-gear' d wheel, 

Together in woe, or weal ; 
If we take a header, 
Her head will be redder. 

As we ride on our high-gear' d wheel. 



157 



SPRING IS SPRUNG. 

The gentle spring is springing, 
The birds their songs have sung,. 

Their winglets all are winging, 
The spring will soon be sprung. 

The swallows all were swallowed 
By Autumn, as they ought; 

And then the fall was followed 
By winter, as I wot. 

'Twas polka, pork and poker. 
From pray unto deprave : 

'Twas coffee, cough, and coffin, 
From gravy to the grave ! 

From woodsaw to the seesaw, 
We pass from this to thus ; 

Prom spare-rib to the sparrow, 
Spared to asparagus. 

We've shoved the frosty shovel. 
With chill and the chilblain ; 

With sleighs we valiant sleighers,. 
Old Winter now have sleighn ! 

We will not, wal-nut, dough-nut, 
With all our cider sigh ; 

From Christmas to the chrysalis, 
We make the butter-fly. 

158 



The shanty in the clearing, 
Reveals the chanticleer : 

Likewise the dog and dogwood, 
Which bark o'er winter's bier. 

The house-dog's pants are shorter, 

His pauses in his lap ; 
The lazy creek is creeking, 

I hear the water gape ! 

Behold the bird and horse fly, 
With all their wings awang ! 

The fire fly makes the fur fly. 
The spring will soon be sprang. 

The forests all are boughing. 
The mountains all about : 

The possum and the blossom. 
Elbows and flour are out. 

Dost ask if spring is springing ? 

Behold the answ'ring ants ! 
Likewise the blooming bloomer ! 

Hark ! the bicycle pants ! 
They're sweeter and their sweater, 

The gals and the gallants. 

You hear the crowing rooster, 
And see the roosting crow : 

'Round Henry Hawkins' hen'ry, 
The hawking hen-hawks go. 

161 



The ant Is at her antics, 
The cattle sweating brows ; 

The coming leaf is leaving, 
Behold the bow wow wows ! 

The circus and the caucus. 
Their humbug rings have rung : 

The Docs and ducks are quacking,- 
The gentle Spring is sprung ! 



OOTSIE TOOTSIE. 

Ootsie Tootsie is a king, 

On his cradle throne he rocks. 
Rules o'er all, and ev'ry thing, 

Scepter is a rattle box. 
Maids of honor wait his will. 

Courtiers fly at his command : 
Roaring war, or peace, be still. 

Follows as he waves his hand. 

Ootsie Tootsie' s court is gay. 

Holds receptions, kings must go ; 
All the world must tribute pay, 

Meekly kiss his papal toe. 
Kneel and knuckle at his nod, 

Praise and flatter him alone ; 
Worshiped like a heathen god, 

Ootsie Tootsie on his throne. 

162 



Ootsie Tootsie has a fire, 

Though the day is scorching hot ; 
So must ev'ryone perspire, 

While we fan him in his cot. 
Ootsie Tootsie has a light 

Ready for his midnight whim ; 
Runs a restaurant all night, 

Where nobody eats but him. 

Ootsie Tootsie' s chariot grand 

Has a footman and Jehu ; 
For his chariot runs by hand, 

All are footmen, horses, too. 
Ootsie Tootsie rides all day. 

Cab or cradle, as he crows ; 
Rides at night the queerest way, 

Rides his pa who rears — but goes. 

Tootsie runs a music hall, 

Where two stars of opera 
Answer ev'ry curtain call. 

All night artists — pa and ma. 
When he leads the chorus grand, 

Tootsie boldly sings the air ; 
Beats time on his popper's head. 

Always draws — his popper' s hair ! 

Ootsie Tootsie on his throne, 
All the world in mourning goes, 

Ev'ry voice in undertone. 
All are walking on their toes. 

163 



Puss and puppy locked out doors, 
Cringingly around we creep ; 

For the king now sweetly snores :- 
Ootsie Tootsie is asleep. 



TEAVELLING MAN'S SONG. 

Ev'ry where, we are there, 

Riding in a rig, or on the rail ; 
Wet or dry, freeze or fry, 

Cyclone, blizzard, snow, or sleet, or hail. 
Dust, or mud, fire, or flood, 

Never alters anything we plan, 
" Grit and go" is, you know. 

The motto of the jolly Trav'ling Man. 

Choktjs : 
Grab our grip, we skip. 
Got to hustle, as we travel o'er the 
land! 
And the world's business whirls 
With the sample case we carry in our 
hand. 

Never say, "night, " or "day," 
Train-time's all we know upon the route ; 

Goods we sell, and we tell 
All the latest stories that are out. 

164 



Read or smoke, play or joke, 
Forty miles an hour, when we can ; 

Or we wait, "train is late," 

Hoodoo of the jolly Trav'ling Man. 

Wear good clothes, money goes 

Freely as the current of our lives ; 
Help the poor, and be sure 

Good to " girley," or to little wives. 
Run cami:)aigns on the trains ; 

Where we " Sunday over" join the choir ; 
Lead the band, lend a hand 

Running with the engine to a fire. 

In our place, game, or race, 

Griving people ' ' pointers ' ' how to win ; 
Nominate the candidate. 

Give results before returns are in. 
We can work the hotel clerk. 

Give the baggage smasher blanky blank ; 
Hold a baby for a lady, 

Give her up a seat without a thank. 

An immense intelligence 

Office, with the answer always free ; 
Make a speech, maybe preach. 

All around athletics, sir, are we. 
Philosophee, theologee. 

When and where our little world began ; 
We can tell if there's a h — hotel. 

Easy for the jolly Trav'ling Man ! 

165 



Sample case is his face, 

What he is, the human and divine ; 
He's a true bread-winner to 

The little house he travels for, called 
"mine." 
There's an Inn where they've been 

Welcoming the world, since it began ; 
Up, there, sir, the Register, 

Opens for the weary Trav'ling Man ! 



DEALING IN OPTIONS. 

O how dear to the Greeny the deals made in 
options. 
When the wild speculation returns them to 
view ! 
Little "Bucket Shop," "call board," the tele- 
graph ticking, 
And the way he was caught, and the "lamb 
was fleeced," too ! 
Then the wide-spreading margin he figured in 
fancy, 
And the money he lost when the grain he 
bought fell ; 
How when "stuck" he was "bled," anddrawed 
on to stay by it — 
By that fool-killer's bucket that hung in the — 
well, 

166 



The old "rope-in" bucket, the "wire-tapped" 
bucket, 
The Backet-Shop bucket that worked him so 
well. 

He had met "bulls" and "bears" in his home 
in the country. 
Knew "the ropes" from the clothes-line up to 
the lasso ; 
He had plowed corn and wheat till he knew how 
to "raise" 'em, 
Or to put " down" the same — when a-hungry, 
you know. 
Knew the "shorts," and the "longs," and the 
bran and the middlings, 
So he thought he would deal in grain options a 
spell ; 
He had three hundred dollars, could " bull," but 
not bear it, 
So he gored a big hole in the — wait, I will tell 
Of the old " soak 'em " bucket, the wire-tapped 
bucket, 
The Bucket-Shop bucket that worked him so 
well. 

He had downed Sage and sausage, so Russell and 
Phil A. 
He would down at a morsel of millions he'd 
make ; 



167 



Did n't he know a " Corner"— whenever he 
turned it? 
He would "corner the market" and then work 
the "break." 
For he knew " Calls," and "Straddles"— from 
calling the cattle 
And by straddling a mule when he went to 
Rozelle ; 
As for " Milking the street,"— why, he milked a 
whole dairy ! 
As for " Watering stock," golly, there was 
the well ! 
The old yoke 'em bucket, the liar-bound bucket, 
The Bucket-Shop bucket, it worked him so well. 

So he threw his three hundred at Wall Street's 
big giants, 
Like the pebble of David of long, long ago ; 
(This fine figure is strong, and I'd like to pursue it, 

But the figure will boomerang if I do so). 
For a broker had sold him a "tip," "a dead sure 
thing ;" 
When the "drop" came, of course on the 
Greeny it fell ; 
And> little " dead duck" that was plucked and 
pin-feathered. 
Was thrown out of the bucket that rose from 
the — well. 
The old hoax 'em bucket, the fool-killer's bucket. 
The Bucket-Shop bucket that worked him so 
well! 

168 



MARY JANE HAW. 

I love the birthday of our land, 
I love to hear the Hawville Band, 

I love the Declaration ; 
I love the lemonade and swings, 
And boys, and girls, and other things, 

Our Nation's celebration. 

I watch our flag float from the pole, 
And great emotions till my soul. 

To tell which I'm not able ; 
As Hail Columbia rends the sky. 
And all the latest styles go by — 
(Looking at her manuscript, she says : 

changed that line) 
And ginger-cakes and chicken fry, 

Are spread upon the table. 

Of all the days that ' s in a year, 
I love July the Fourth most dear, 

Our great ^ Pluribus TJnum ; 
And I shall love it best alway 
Of any — 'cept the weddin' day. 

Which it can't come too soon — ughm ! 

patriots, 'twas the Eagle's claw- 
Tore Freedom from the Lion's paw, 

And set our flag on high ! 
Oh, our forefathers died and fit. 
And our foremothers died and — knit, 

For our Fourth of July ! 

171 



THE FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL. 

Now, 'en, I's been to 'cool all day, 

An' woman wot you call 
A teacher, one wot knows so much. 

She don' know nossin' 't all ! 
She had to ask a boy how much 

'At one an' two would be. 
An', sir, she had to call me up 

To show her A an' B ! 

She toud n' t spell cat, ner boy, ner dog. 

An' she had to ask me how ; 
An' in a pictur book she had. 

She tould n't tell a cow ; 
They showed her how to read an' write, 

An' mark upon a wall ; 
She askin' questions all a time ; 

She don' know nossin' ' tall ! 

We all jus' had to keep so still, 

You tould n't hear a soun' ; 
A squallers' workin', oh, so hard. 

An' teacher loafin' roun' ! 
An' wen a teacher turn her back, 

So 'at her tould n't see, 
'At ugl}^, red-head Bunker boy. 

He made a face at me ! 

173 



An' one boy blo'd a paper wad, 

An' made a squallers grin. 
An' nuzzer boy 'hind anuzzer boy, 

He stick' d Mm wiv a pin ! 
An' wen a book hide teacher's eyes, 

'At great big Johnny Duff, 
He reach across to Sister Kate, 

An' kiss her, sure enough ! 

An' 'en we all went out to play, 

But foh we tould begin. 
She ring 'at hateful, baby bell. 

An' made us all turn in. 
An' by an' by was dinnah time, 

An' some had cake an' pie ; 
An' one girl let me chew her gum, 

'Cause I was gon' to cry ! 

An' 'en a man turn to a doh. 

An' teacher go out there, 
She staid, an' staid, an' Sammy Stoots, 

Pulled Billy Wellses' hair ! 
An' wisperd, an' a acted up, 

Ner wuz n't 'fraid, you know, 
About a teacher tummin' in, 

' Cause teacher had a beau ! 



173 



THE GRAVE OF A STAR. 

[The children saw the Author coming to their picnic at the lake. Curly 
haired Charley Hyde ran to meet the visitor crying, " Oh, please write me & 
poem on this lake! " It was written that day to please the boy who is now 
happy in the home ahoye the stars.] 

Far back in days unnumbered, 
The morning Stars were young, 

Around their home in heaven 
Like children played and sung. 

The moon was their sweet mother. 

As all good mothers are, 
And in her silver cradle. 

She rocked each baby star. 

There all the stellar children 

Had nothing else to do, 
But play, and play forever, 

In meadow-lands of blue. 

Grood children, bright and happy, 

Until one little star 
Beheld the golden sunbeams 

Fall from the sun, afar. 

It dropped the silver playthings,, 

Began to cry and scold, 
For Mother Moon to give it 

The shining rays of gold. 

174 



In vain she tried to please it, 
With countless silver toys : 

It only grew more naughty, 
Just like some little boys. 

One Evening as these children 

Put star rays in the dew, 
This Naughty saw the sunbeams 

That lay in plainest view 
Upon the hills of Afton ; 

It vowed to have them, too. 

While Mother Moon was rocking 

A baby star to sleep, 
Sly ISTaughty dropped its playthings. 

And, with a sudden leap. 

It sprang to catch the sunbeams — 
Down, down the dizzy height 

It fell, all-radiant, beaming 
Athrill with strange delight. 

The golden rays all vanished ! 

Bewildered, frightened, lost. 
The falling star descended, 

Just like a fair soul tossed, 

Down, down the deep of darkness — 
All heaven could not save ; 

It plunged to Earth, self-buried 
In that deep, open grave. 

175 



The tears of heaven's children 
Shed for the lost one's sake. 

In that grave falling nightly, 
There formed a crystal lake. 

And near the Susquehanna, 

Among the Afton hills, 
It may be seen in passing. 

Unfed by creeks, or rills. 

The depth cannot be fathomed ; 

'Tis pure, and bright, and clear, 
Born not of earth, but heaven : 

Just like an angel's tear. 

Around the mirrored margin. 
To warn 'gainst golden dreams, 

Bloom rare, gold water lilies, 
Poor Naughty' s golden beams. 

And oft, upon the bosom. 
Unmoved by wind or wave, 

The moon lies like a mother 
Upon a lost child's grave. 



176 



m 



JUMPING THE ROPE. 

Upon the air is laughter, 
With ringing shouts of glee, 

And flying feet of fairies 
In wildest revelry. 

The glint of golden tresses, 
And gleam of sparkling eyes ; 

In gaily colored costumes 
They flit like butterflies. 

A gamboling of Grenie, 
Defying rhyme, or trope — 

The revel of the school girls, 
That Jump the skipping-rope. 

The happy turners swinging 
The pendulum of mirth ; 

The merry dancers angels 
Of heaven, and then of earth. 

More beautiful their ballet 

Than sun's famed dancing beams 

More musical their laughter 
Than ripple of the streams . 



179 



THE CHURCH GOOSE. 

There's a What-is-it strays into meeting, 

A queer creature with down near its nose j 
And it hisses, disturbing the worship ; 

But it isn't a boy, though in clothes. 
Not a bird, though it wears some fine feathers^ 

Surely not a girl acting so loose ! 
So the down, and the feathers, and hissing, 

Show the What-is-it is a church goose. 

" Whis, whis, whisper, whis, whisper, whis,., 
whisper ! ' ' 

Goes the church goose the preachers dread so ; 
" Whis, whis, whisper, whis, whisper, whis,. 
whisper ! " 

The goose hisses, whose hissing all know ; 
For the church goose gets back in a corner, 

Or it ganders its neck somewhere 'round, 
And it hisses, till, though it look human. 

We all know 'tis a goose by the sound. 

Be it gosling, or goosey, or gander, 

In a corner, or strayed in a choir, 
Yet a goose is a goose if it hisses, 

Or if human, should hush, or retire. 
Let no whisper, no act annoy others, 

Unless sure of a righteous excuse ; 
For "Whis, whisper, whis, whisper, whis,^ 
whisper ! " 

Shows the hissing and hated church goose. 

180 




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U^' 



THE BABY. 

These are not babes, but baby, 

(Her ma says there's but one^) 
And so there is no other 

True child phenoma — none ! 
These angel smiles (one's impy,) 

That challenge you to kiss, 
Show she's the sweetest, cutest — 

None in the world like this ! 

O when she's "making faces," 

She's Ella Cutionist, 
And always "brings the house down,' 

With ev'ry facial twist. 
She out-does all your Delsarte, 

As Ella June Meade-Cake ; 
The E,'s are all unravelled, 

The gestures, " our own make." 

In comedy, she stars it ; 

She wrinkles up her nose. 
And kicks her skirt like ballets, 

She dances with her toes. 
She comes back for the encore, 

We bow to her " Goo goo ! " 
Be-call, and keep re-calling, 

Until she's tired, too. 

183 



But really, Grand Op'ra 

Is where she's star and moon ; 
And when she sings her top note^ 

All else seems out of tune. 
For orchestra, her rattle ; 

She sings, and trills, and soars ; 
Parquette is ma and grandma, 

Rest balcony — out-doors. 

Contortionist, she's born that ; 

Why, she can suck her toe ! 
Her limbs will bend and double. 

Just like a piece of dough ! 
There never was a twister 

Could "bring the whole house down,'^ 
Like she can — when we bathe her. 

Or put on Nighty Gown. 

She's statuesque in posing, 

(As stiff in changing dress,) 
As fair as Parian marble. 

All grace and loveliness. 
She is a model baby, 

A cherub, angel — well, 
Look at her in the picture. 

And see if you can tell. 



184 



enOSES IN THE BARN. 

The barn's haunted loft is gloomy and still ; 

The spider webs cover the mould, 
Where sun-arrows shoot through holes in the roof 

And rafters are lined with gold. 
Hist ! harken to goblin's footsteps, or wings ! 

I hear them so plain, don't you ? 
The ghoses us children find in the barn ; 

They flit round and cry, "Woo, woo ! " 

No, sir, it is not the rats in the mow, 

Nor voice of the wind that moans ; 
They're ghoses that's hauntin' the old barn loft ; 

With awful screeches and groans. 
We hide and we watch, all holdin' our breath. 

We hear and we see them, too ; 
By day, or by night, when th' wind 's blowin^ 
right. 

They dodge round and cry, " Woo, woo ! " 

At night they bewitch the horses' long manes, 

They tangle the harness all : 
They tie the halters in goblinses knots. 

They let loose a horse in a stall. 
They swing in the rafters spider web swings. 

They dance, and they drink the dew ; 
They revel all night, and when it is light, 

They flit 'round and cry, "Woo, woo ! " 

185 



OOTLEIB'S CHARGE OF THE LIGHT 
BRIGADE. 

Ein half mile, twsei half mile, 
Drei half mile, dot vay, 
Droo der valley, scart to det, 
Rode sex hundert Calfalry. 
"All-treat der Lightnin' Prigade ! 
En'mies vhas comin' ! " he yelt ; 
Out of dot valley alive, 
Skip der sick hundert ! 

"Git dere dher Lightnin' Prigade ! " 
Yhas dere a man dot shtaid ? 
Not dot anypotty knows 'pout, 
Oxcept he blundert! 
None of 'em ox dher vhy. 
All of 'em on dher fly ! 
Deirs but to flew, er die : 
Out of dot valley alive — 
Skip dher sick hundert ! 

Big guns dhis vhay of 'em, 

Big guns dot vhay of 'em, 

Big guns behindt of 'em, 

Yhay off, trolleyed und tundert ! 

Shtraight vrom dot shot und shell, 

All of 'em vent, pell mell ! 

Motto vhas "L X. L. !" 

186 



Howled like a college yell, 
Outrun a scart gazelle, — 
Skippin' sick hundert ! 

Flashed all deir bait heads bare ! 
Shtraight oop shtand deir hair ! 
Nef er vhas zich a scare ! 
All of 'em gittin' dere ! 
All dher vorldt vhondert ! 
No time to take a shmoke ; 
Yip deir horse shtrokety shtroke ; 
Some of deir pottles proke ; 
Shiminy, vot a shoke ! 
Scattered und sundert, 
Facin' dher foe mit deir back. 
Not, — notty sick hundert ! 

Big hums dis vhay of 'em, 
Big hums dot vhay of 'em, 
Big hums pehint of 'em, 
Overed und undert ! 
Sound like dher pullets hum, 
Nearder und nearder come, 
Like bay' nets shtickt 'em some, 
Scart und skeedadleum ! 
Beat deir horse like a drum ! 
Fe fi foamin' f um 
He iiew-ri-bus Vinum 
Great pandimoni-^/ww 
Ab squatula-^i^m — 
Awful sick hundert ! 

187 



Yhen vill dher glory fade ? 
Vhen vhas a pigger f raid ? 
O dot all-treat dey made ! 
Yhasant a man dot shtayed, 
Oxcept he blundert ! 
Hornets vot foolt 'em so ; 
Hornets vill shting you know ! 
Dots vot dher matter 
Mit dher sick hundert ! 



THE NEW WOMAN. 

When the "New Woman" votes, 

Then, of railroads and boats, 
She'll be president, bossing the lines ; 

And the old man must kneel. 

And to her must appeal. 
When he wants a big raise, or resigns. 

Then the old ticket punch, 

The "ten minutes for lunch," 
And the "tips," and seat porker, must go; 

You will not have to wait. 

Nor be handled like freight, 
When the New Woman "dead-heads" her 
beau. 



188 



THE PRESS CLUB BOYS. 

[Written for the " Benefit " of the Press Club of which the author was 
a member. Tune : " Colored Knights of Pythias."] 

We're Jolly pencil shovers, 

We're always on tlie go, 
Around the town we're huntin' down 

The latest " scoop," you know : 
A nose for news, a "get-there gait," 

We write for pay and fame, 
We have to do the world each day. 

From Arts to foot-ball game. 

Choetjs : 

Oh ! joy, dear boy, 

Let your heart be vocal. 
For we write all the night, 

Hunt all day the local : 
We report Church and Court, 

All the news and noise, 
No other order can compare 

With the jolly Press Club Boys. 

The doctor wants a mention, 

The lawyer wants a puff, 
The preacher wants his sermon praised^ 

The author all his stuff ; 

189 



The politician wants a boost, 

The actor wants a blow, 
The farmer wants a "write-up " on 

How large his pumpkins grow. 

The ladies want a notice. 

Of ev'ry ballroom dress, 
And how they look with diamonds on, 

All angel loveliness ; 
Oh ! bless the darlings, all they want 

They ask for, get it, too, 
The very folks of all the world. 

We love — to interview. 

Our paper is our Banner, 

Both night and day unfurled, 
The pencil is the weapon, boys, 

That conquers all the world ; 
Our uni- " form " is loyal type, 

It always "falls in line," 
So "press" the "columns," forward, write! — 

The glory's mine and thine. 



190 



THE DEVIL'S CHRISTMAS "PL" 

Not on tlie horns of evil, 

Not on the forked tail ; 
But on the printer's devil, 

I lift the mystic veil. 

'Tis Christmas Eve, and midnight, 
And all the day he' s run ; 

He's lunched on paste, lost supper, 
To get his day's work done. 

He thinks of merry Christmas, 
And dreams of dinner hot ; 

May be of something warmer 
Which always hits the spot. 

Takes " galley proof," and whistles ; 

He makes ' ' revise ' ' and sings ; 
He "locks the form," his laughter 

In roar and riot rings. 

He lifts the "form" with transport^ 
His goal and girl are nigh, 

And — Crash ! Oh-h-h — the devil 
Enjoys his Christmas " pi " ! 



191 



BRUISEY THE NEWSEY. 

[Written for, and read at the Newsboys' Banquet, Omaha, Neb.] 

Yes, Bruisey the Newsey, our hero is he, 
A soldier whose war cry is, ^''Heruld er Bee! 
His battles are bloodless, except in the " scraps " 
When some one imposes on Bruisey, perhaps. 
The battle he fights is the battle for bread. 
Where even the children are found with the dead. 
So, early and late, paper banner unfurled, 
Our Bruisey is marching with, ' ^Bee er a Wurld f ' ' 

Our Bruisey the Newsey is not, in his looks. 
The handsome dude hero you read of in books. 
He's cross-eyed and freckled ; he has a snub nose, 
He's out at his elbows, his knees and his toes ; 
His mouth, when it opens with, ^'■Heruld er Bee ! " 
There's nothing of Bruisey left for you to see. 
His yell wakes the dummy that stands in the store. 
The big wooden Indian is scared by the roar. 

Our Bruisey the Newsey' s great mouth is his pride 
At these Newsboy dinners where mouths are so 

tried ; 
His mouth is so wide, he finds it no bother 
To eat with one corner and drink with the other, 
And room in the middle for Bruisey to roar, 
" Them victuals is clean out of sight ; want some 

more !" 

192 



Ah, no one with Bruisey can come to the scratch, 
When there is a "free-for-all" pie-eating match. 

Our Bruisey belongs to the Poor Peoples' Club. 
The world is their bath-room ; the river, the tub ; 
The streets and the stairways, gymnasium hall, 
And all out of doors for their banquet and tawl. 
The show-bills and signs they may read as they 

run. 
The largest library found under the sun. 
They smoke Just the finest cigars they can find / 
Not whole ones, but stub ones — economy kind. 

Our Bruisey, whenever you papers decline, 
Will flourish a brush and shout, " Shine 'em up! 

shine % 
It's only a nickel, Boss ; shine 'em so bright 
A dorg can't look at 'em 'thout wantin' to fight. 
Hyar, set up yer foot, Boss ; nice hoof you've got! 
Does I go to Sunday Skule ? — well, I guess not ; 
'Bout then I sells papers, an' course I can't go ; 
But I leads de gallery gang at de show ! 
Pm Bruisey de Newsey, Boss ! Tother foot now. 
Me sing? betcher boots ! Sing 'Little Bow Wow,' 
An' 'Arter De Ball,' an' a ' High Ole Time : '— 
They're done ; fer boots an' advice. Boss, a dime! 
Afraid my soul '11 be lost ? well, my shoes 
Is knocked out ; but not so de sole 's gonter lose. 
Wurld-Heruld er Bee ! All 'bout how newsboys 

dine ! 
A big bloody murder ! Shine 'em up ! Shine ? " 

193 



Our Bruisey tlie Newsey works hard for a dime ;; 
But what did I see Bruisey doing one time ? 
He took all the money for boots he had shined, 
And gave to a little newsboy who was blind ! 
And when the blind newsey was sick, ev'ry d-^y 
An orange, or something, took Bruisey that way. 
At the death, all the flowers that all the world 

gave, 
Were Bruisey' s ! and took ev'ry cent he could 

save. 

Oh, Bruisey the Newsey is ragged and rough. 
He's cast out and knocked about till he is tough ; 
Yet better than many, though down at their feet; 
For he, giving all, then must earn bread to eat. 
But sometime, and somewhere, a righting of 

wrong, 
Will reconcile all the world's suffered so long ; 
Then each little Newsey will find there is One 
Who knows ev'ry heart-weary round he has run ; 
God hears when the ravens cry ; then, does n't He 
Hear the call of the street waif : " World-Heruld 

er Beef'' 



194 



SONNET. 

Thou All -Loving One, the Ever Good ! 
Thy throne of golden suns and silver spheres, 
By faith we see through clouds of cares and tears. 
We own thy power, Eternal Fatherhood, 
And come to Thee as little children should, 
When earthly parent calls to where appears 
The home so dear, bright with the light that cheers: 
What child that loved the father, then with- 
stood ? 
They hear and know, although they do not see. 
If we delay, unheeding, still, the call ; 
Or from Thee in the darkness errant roam, 
O may Thy mercy bring us back to Thee ! 
Forgive us when we in the darkness fall, 
Reclaim, and lead thy wandering children 
home. 



195 



